


Boundary

by PhKn



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V
Genre: Alcohol, Assault, Canon Compliant, Conflict of Interests, Dragons, Dubious Morality, F/M, Fake Science, Female Gaze, Genesisshipping - Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, Novel, Novelization, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Rating: PG13, Romance, Sensuality, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tragedy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 116,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhKn/pseuds/PhKn
Summary: Canon-compliant prequel to Yu-Gi-Oh ARC-V.Three years ago the professional dueling league changed drastically, leaving Akaba Ray behind with her lifelong dreams destroyed and her father dejected and miserable. Discontent with her current life, Ray is determined to find a way to make herself happy, until she is swept into a new opportunity by a chance meeting with the person she most hates in the world.





	1. Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> As of the earliest date of publication, I have most of this story already written. I will try to keep up with updates weekly or bi-weekly.
> 
> This will be my exploration of the events leading up to the calamity that split the dimensions apart. It will read like a novel chapter by chapter. This is my very first published fic EVER and your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!!
> 
> For the purposes of this story, Zarc and Ray are both in the age range of 22-24 years old.
> 
> The portable Real SolidVision capabilities utilized in Arc-V episodes 53 and onward can be seen as an advancement of the technology developed throughout this story. In the main story, it is presumably still very inefficient in energy usage and therefore very time-limited.

>   _All we do is play it safe,_
> 
> _All we do is live inside a cage_
> 
> _All we do is play it safe_
> 
> _All we do, all we do…_
> 
>  
> 
> _I've been upside down,_
> 
> _I don't wanna be the right way round,_
> 
> _Can't find paradise on the ground._
> 
> Oh Wonder, “All We Do”

* * *

 

“Ugh, turn that off while I’m eating.”

I dropped my boxed salad on the breakroom table and crossed the room to switch off the TV in the corner. Kari groaned in protest.

“Ray, you’re the only one that doesn’t like the Real Fights,” she said, annoyed. “And Zarc is my _favorite_.”

“Dragons are cliché.” I mumbled bitterly as I dropped into the chair beside her and stabbed into my salad. “But he’s everyone’s favorite, apparently.”

Kari was our office admin, which by default made her my closest friend because work took up too much time for me to have a separate social life. She was comfortably plump and quite attractive, with sassy rimmed glasses and probably a million pairs of shoes. Today she was taking her lunch break with a strawberry parfait and new stack of fashion magazines, thumbing through the advertisements while she’d been watching the television.

“Of course he’s everyone’s favorite,” she was saying, dropping her chin into her hand and staring wistfully at the blank TV. “He’s the best. He’s incredible. He’s just…he’s…”

She trailed off, speechless at merely the thought of him, so I finished her sentence for her: “Decadent.”

“Exactly!” she simpered, “He’s just _mouthwatering,_ isn’t he?” She held out a magazine photo spread to show me: Zarc, gratuitously fashionable on a dark wood staircase, leaning with casual grace against a banister with his jacket thrown carelessly over his shoulder.

“That’s not what I meant,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes away from the tacky magazine spread.

“It’s got his cologne sample on the page, mmm,” Kari said with relish, and then pressed her face into the magazine for a second before pushing it on me. “It’s called ‘Sarkany.’ Here, smell it—”

“Ew, no!”

“Danny and I like to watch reruns of his duels together,” she said with a saucy wiggle of her shoulders, “Sometimes it spices things up.”

“Ugh, stop,” I said, shoveling salad into my mouth before I lost my appetite. “I just don’t want to watch him break a guy’s femur while I’m trying to eat.”

“It’s the _monsters_ that do that,” she said, tapping her parfait spoon thoughtfully against her lips. “And it’s thrilling, it’s the realest kind of entertainment to watch the opponents _really_ risk it all, you know? A _real_ survival game. That’s why they call them _Real_ Fights with _Real_ SolidVision. Besides, they all know what they’re getting into when they duel. Both parties have to sign all kinds of waivers that say they or their families won’t ask for restitution or anything. But if they actually manage to win, it’s money and glory beyond belief. Zarc practically _is_ a king, or at least he probably lives like one. And he basically pays our salaries.”

“The arena is our client, not him,” I said, “They buy the Real SolidVision system and pay for our maintenance.”

“Well yeah,” Kari reasoned, “But how does the arena make money? Ticket sales. From his popularity, and the other Elites too. Zarc sells out every single one of his duels almost immediately. Danny has tried to get us tickets the last couple of times but we’re not fast enough. He’s been saving up for the _good_ seats.”

“The ones where you get splattered?”

“That’s what the plexiglass is there for.”

“Gross.”

“You used to be a duelist, right?” Kari mused, digging into her parfait cup for the last of the strawberries, “I don’t even remember what dueling was like before the Real Fights. Never went to watch one. I don’t really understand how the cards and all the rules work. I mean, did people really care about the card game before it got _interesting_?”

“Of course they did,” I grumbled, “It was plenty _interesting_ before. It was just more focused on the _actual game_ and not on smearing your opponent all over the floor.”

It was unbearable how much the game had changed. I had loved the lights and the adrenaline of dueling in front of a packed audience, but once Zarc turned the game into the Real Fights, popularizing how much spectacular violence his monsters could inflict on his opponent during his matches, Father had insisted I quit. I’d been working under him as a technician at the Real SolidVision Department of Research and Development for about three years. I still got to duel sometimes—we tested out the equipment every month—but it wasn’t the same. My father wasn’t the same. He, Professor Akaba Leo, had been praised for his brilliant developments in Entertainment Technology and was practically a household name before Zarc waltzed into the spotlight and ruined everything. Father never meant for dueling to become this gruesome. He hardly ever went out in public anymore, too ashamed at what his work had become, too ashamed by the praise. He still worked on the system—he knew it the best, after all, and it afforded the two of us a comfortable lifestyle, but he was miserable. 

“I want things to go back to how they were,” I said, “It was all about fun before, putting on a good show…”

“It _is_ a good show,” Kari insisted, “Like I said, it’s _real._ There’s nothing fake or acted or scripted. That’s why it’s so exciting. It’s just two people putting their lives on the line.”

“For your entertainment.” I said sardonically.

“That’s how you know they’re the _best_ entertainers,” she replied. “Zarc risks his own life every single time too. But he just wants to please his fans.” She spread her arms wide and gazed at the dingy breakroom wall with starry eyes as though looking out at a packed stadium, “‘ _Ladies and gentlemen_!’ It’s just so _mesmerizing_ , you know?”

“It’s disgusting.” I pushed my half-finished salad away. “It’s like we’ve gone backwards in time and the stadium is some kind of colosseum now. People get mauled and maimed by the monsters, and everyone wants to watch it. The most violent and cruel are the ones who win, and they get famous and rich and everything they want. It’s horrible.”

“Danny and I met through the fan club,” Kari said, ignoring my diatribe. “You could say Zarc brought us together. And it’s going really well. He works for a luxury chauffeur service and they’re hoping to get hired by an Elite. There’s a fancy soiree coming up this weekend that thearena owners are hosting at their super-nice hotel downtown, and his promotion to Public Relations means that he got an invite and I get to go as his plus-one. It’ll be _so_ amazing. We might get to talk to an Elite about signing a contract, if we’re lucky. He’s a really great boyfriend.”

“I’m happy for you,” I said dully. “But if I could go back in time and stop this from happening, I would. It’s not fair. My father worked on that system for _years_ and look what it’s become.”

“Imagine if he got Zarc to sign a contract for their driving service,” Kari said dreamily to the ceiling, completely disregarding me again, “Then _maybe_ I’d get to meet him. Maybe. They’d get to drive him back and forth to the arena and to all his photoshoots and appearances and everything. The real high-life. You know,” she looked back at me, “Danny said he has a buddy in the transport business who knew a guy who drove Zarc out of the arena once. I guess it was a last-minute substitute thing because the usual driver was sick, and he drove him to this weird office tower in the East District, not too far from here, on the corner of Fifth Street and Pivot Avenue. He thought it might be Zarc’s manager’s office—who _is_ his manager, anyway?—he’s in the fan club, this guy, so naturally he went back later to see what this place was, but he couldn’t get further than the lobby. So we never figured out what that drop-off was about, but oh well. He shouldn’t have told us at all; the drivers aren’t supposed to reveal the places they take their clients.”

I was barely listening to her babble, trying to finish my salad even though the slimy lettuce seemed uninviting after hearing so much about Zarc. I really hated him. What he’d done to the game, my father and his work…it was despicable. It was a poor reputation to give our company, to associate that kind of violence with our product, no matter how much the masses loved it and paid to see it.

Fifth and Pivot, huh?

My father was still where he was at his desk before I’d taken my lunch break, squinting over his reading glasses at the analysis screen that read a progress bar that was crawling slowly up to twenty percent.

“Take a lunch break, Professor,” I said with a tap on his shoulder. “This isn’t good for your eyes. The update won’t load any faster with you watching it.”

My father turned around, taking his glasses from his face to pass his hand over his eyes, and smiled wearily at me. “Do you have those test rundowns written out?”

“I’ll push them to your inbox to review,” I dropped into my desk chair and swiped through thedocuments on my own screen, dull blocks of words that described a clinical analysis of the duels we’d run last week, the energy used by the unit on each given monster, any observable lag or glitch from the disk signal to the main unit. I felt bristly and restive; talking about Zarcalways ruined my day just like he’d ruined everything else.

“Father.”

He draped his lab coat over his chair, holding the sandwich I’d made him this morning. “Hmm?”

“I don’t like doing this.”

I fiddled with the pen cup on my desk rather than look him in the eye. I heard him let out a quiet sigh, and then he said, “I know you don’t. I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

“It’s…it’s not that,” I said, still rearranging my pens, “It’s…we’re just facilitating people like—people like Zarc to do his awful ‘performances’ with our equipment. I don’t like it.”

“That’s true,” he conceded, “But I’m still responsible for the machine. I built it, so I’ll keep working on it. I know you’re unhappy in this job, but you’re very smart and I enjoy having you around. And you’re safe.”

Safe, yes. And bored. “What if all the violence could stop?”

I looked up at his face to see him smiling again, this time a little sadly. “And how can that happen?”

“What if—” I chose my words carefully, trying not to make it obvious that I already had a plan, “What if someone—I don’t know—went and talked to his manager about going back to the old way of dueling? I guess they could make a lot more money if more duelists reentered the League and challenged him without all the brutality.”

“More duelists,” he said slowly, “Like you?”

I looked back down at the desk, flicking the cap of a pen open and closed idly. “No. I mean, that doesn’t matter…I just want your machine to be represented the way it should be. You…you worked so hard on it and it shouldn’t be used for cruelty like this. I can—I can talk to his manager. I used to be in the League so I know how things could work in everyone’s favor, if I could just—”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Father cut in, in the tone he always used when he was done with a discussion. “It’s not your job to speak on the company’s behalf, and anyone working for Zarc is going to be just as deplorable as he is.”

I turned back to my documents, fighting the retorts I wanted to throw, and finally just mumbling, “I just want everything to go back to normal.”

He sighed again, and sat down at his desk with his sandwich. “So do I. But if it hadn’t been Zarc that caused that accident, it would have been someone else eventually. If that’s what the crowd wanted to see, if that’s the type of dueling they wanted to support, it could have been anyone that started this Real Fights trend. Even if Zarc did calm his tactics down, the fans would just pick a new favorite and it would all continue. We can’t change the minds of the fans, they’ll just want what they want.”

_But what about what I want?_

I nodded, but my mind wasn’t changed either. Zarc was already a favorite before he started the Real Fights, due to his apparent “handsomeness” and particular theatrical flair thatmade fans swoon even before the violence became a factor. _He_ was the one that was popular and the fans would just lap up anything he did. If he stopped his cruelty, everything could go back to normal, the other Elites would follow his lead. Perhaps it was all the same to my father; he had accepted his dejection over the past three years, but I couldn’t. He might be disappointed with how his work had been used, but he hadn’t had his dreams crushed like I had, dragged out of the limelight to be buried underground in this dingy basement lab that smelled like hot dust.

I could do it. I could make my case, at least, and convince his manager to hear me out.

I decided to drop by the corner of Fifth Street and Pivot Avenue at eight o’clock the next day, Tuesday, excusing myself from dinner with Father by telling him that Kari wanted me to help her pick out dresses to wear to that fancy soiree thing she’d mentioned. A manager working for someone like Zarc would likely be in his office late into the night. If this was even a manager’s office; I only had vague speculations for why Zarc might have visited this building, but it was a start. Fixing my father’s reputation had to start somewhere, and this was my only lead.

The taxi dropped me off at Fifth and Pivot, and Kari was right: there was a strangely out-of-place office tower here, with the surrounding blocks occupied mostly by warehouses. The tower was unmarked and dark-paned, plainly rectangular but for the windows of the top several floors which angled outward into a wide curve that swept around the building. The taxi drove off, and I took a deep breath. _Come on, Ray. You used to be a star duelist. You can do this!_

The lobby door was unlocked, and admitted me into a dimly-lit reception area. The walls were paneled in dark wood and the floor was glossy black marble, but there was no one at the reception desk, and only a dusty artificial ficus tree in the corner. The lobby was a much smaller room than the outside of the building, but there were no halls or doors leading off of it into other rooms and offices; just a black-fronted elevator waiting along the side wall in the far corner of the room. I walked over to it, expecting to see a list of office owner names and businesses and which floors they occupied, but there was none. Just a button to call the elevator, with no indication of to what the use of this building was dedicated.

Perhaps the floor listing was inside the elevator car, then. I pushed the button, and waited. The elevator car must have been waiting at one of the high floors, because it took a full minute to arrive and open the smooth doors into the nondescript, dark-paneled compartment. I stepped in and turned around, but there still was no list of offices—there were no buttons at all, none to direct the car to a certain floor, or even the usual open, close, and emergency call buttons. 

I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. I really shouldn’t be here. I didn’t even know what this place was, or why Zarc might have come here, and why on earth had I come by myself? I made to step out of the elevator, but the elevator door snapped shut on me, and began moving slowly upward.

I started to panic. I was trapped in a tiny box with no way to control it, and it was taking me up to—who knows where. The only office in the building? Was the elevator automatically programmed for only one destination? I went over my speech in my head. If the doors opened right into his office, I should start talking right away, no hesitations or apologies for my intrusion.

The elevator took me all the way up to what must be the top floor, slid to an even stop, and the doors opened.

I charged out immediately, saying, “Excuse me but I’d like to talk about—”

I stopped abruptly. What had been a dark room when I had stepped inside was beginning to flicker into light upon sensing my movement, and this certainly wasn’t an office. It was a massive expanse of black marble, a huge circular room that was easily large enough to fit my father’s and my entire house inside it. But for the short expanse of wall that housed the elevator, the room was lined all around with those huge outward-angling windows I’d seen from outside. They extended at least the height of four floors up, ribbed at intervals with strip lighting so the height of the room stayed evenly lit all the way up to the ceiling. 

I was obviously in the wrong place, but I let my curiosity push my better judgement aside. There was hardly anything in the room, despite its massive size; just a great expanse of marble floor reflecting the light fixtures above, except for two chesterfield couches next to the windows on the far side of the room, with a glass coffee table between them. I turned to my right and walked along the dark wood-paneled wall. Close to the elevator was a sideboard set with a generous selection of liquor bottles and glasses, and the wall twisted around behind itself, rolling back into an almost-concealed spiral staircase that led down to a darkened level below. I reached the end of the wall and peered down the staircase, but I couldn’t make out what was down there.

But then my eyes were drawn to the windows. This room was up so high that I could practically see the whole city and its thousands of lights—street lights, the moving streams of cars on the highway, the gentle glow of the residential blocks, the brightly-lit shopping centers. I’d never seen the city from so high up before. It was breathtaking. Perhaps this place was some kind of observation deck of the city. I walked along the windows, all the way around the room to the far side with the chesterfield couches, picking out familiar buildings in the distance. There was our lab facility, empty for the day and dark but for the safety lights around the buildings. There was the Aether Arena further away in downtown, its domed roof glowing brightly with the decorative lights that changed colors from moment to moment, where I used to duel. 

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?”

I spun around so quickly and gasped so deeply in shock that I practically choked and almost fell backward against the window.

There he was. 

The man from the posters and billboards, from the magazines at the convenience store, the gratuitous TV replays. 

Zarc, the Supreme King, the Champion, leaning casually against the edge of the wall by the staircase.

“I—I—” My stomach was churning so violently that I wanted to vomit. I’d seen this very same man break bones and take magnanimous bows to the delighted roars from the crowd, sickened as my father’s life’s work became splattered in this man’s bloody infamy. A thousand emotions exploded in my belly, from disgust and hatred to unbridled terror. _Oh god. Oh god._ He was close to the elavator, so if I made a run for it—my legs couldn’t even move as it was. I was rooted to the floor in utter horror. That man— _that same man_. The man that changed everything, the one that turned Duel Monsters into the Real Fights so I’d had to…That same man, standing here in dark casual slacks and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, staring at me, waiting for me to explain myself.

“I—I don’t know—” I spluttered, “I don’t know—how I got in here—”

Zarc raised an eyebrow. “You rang my doorbell.”

I paused, trying to pull myself out of my panic to think clearly. Rang the doorbell…so the button on the lobby floor didn’t just automatically call the elevator car. But that meant…

“This isn’t…an office?” I tried to push my tone down to an even impression.

His face was totally passive, completely different than the ingratiating, savage smile I’d seen in the Real Fight recaps, but he glanced up at the high ceiling as if to punctuate how absurd my question was.

“This is where I live.”

Another flood of horror crashed down on me. This was his home. Unwittingly I had just barged in on the personal living space of the most famously violent person in the city. I stared down at my shoes, trying to think of an innocent excuse that could negotiate my escape.

“What can I do for you, Miss Akaba?”

Somehow the sound of my name—my father’s name—fully grounded me, and I planted my feet and stared him right in the face. “I hate you!”

He raised his eyebrows even further, and responded in a flat, sardonic voice, “So you’re not from the fan club, then?”

An avalanche of absolute rage crashed down on me, and I couldn’t even control my tirade.

“No I am not from your stupid _fan club_ ,” I erupted, balling my hands into fists and planting my heels into the floor, “My father worked for _years_ on Real SolidVision! He dedicated his whole life day after day pouring his blood, sweat, and tears into that technology to make dueling more exciting and innovative and better than ever until _you_ came along, with your disgusting ‘entertainment’ and you disgraced the game and my father’s work and you ruined—you ruined _everything_ and I—I—I _hate you_!”

My voice reverberated off the high ceiling and settled into a ringing silence. His face was still passive as he watched me closely, his eyes slightly narrowed as he considered me. I expected him to demand that I leave his home immediately, bellow at me for coming over unannounced and showing him so much disrespect in his own weirdly huge living room or whatever it was; or worse, charge right over to me and throw me straight through the large, angled window right behind me. But he turned his back to me, and said instead, “Have a seat.”

Zarc moved to the sideboard and picked up two old fashioned tumblers and a bottle of dark amber liquid, and turned around to see me still standing in the same spot, speechless.

“You’re my guest, after all.”

I weighed my options. I could still run, but I had the feeling that if I ran he would instinctively chase me, spurred by a savage prey drive like a wild animal, but his hands were full now so if I made a break for the elevator he’d have to drop his belongings to catch me. I could politely refuse—make an excuse for myself, apologize for my mistake, and maybe he’d just let me go with my head down. But—

No. I didn’t come here to run away or retreat without dignity, and the idea of apologizing to this man after everything he and his reputation had done to my father was repulsive. I’d come here to negotiate rationally with a businessman. I’d even dressed for it—a professional pencil skirt with a blazer and subdued makeup so that I would be taken seriously, and not addressed like a silly little girl who had wandered into the wrong place. If I had known the person I’d really be meeting with was Zarc himself—well, I wouldn’t have come at all. But I was here, and even after my initial outburst it seemed I had a second chance to make my case. I sat down stiffly on one of the chesterfield couches, keeping my knees and ankles pressed firmly together so my posture could not be interpreted as anything other than professional. He crossed over to the couches with the bottle and the pair of tumblers.

Ludicrously and unbidden, I was reminded of an evening about two years ago when Kari, frustrated after her breakup with an ex-boyfriend whose name I could never remember anyway, insisted I needed to “get out more” and dragged me to a sleazy nightclub on the other side of town. On her giggly encouragement, I let a guy buy me a drink, and consequently had to endure an agonizing forty-five minutes as he sat way too close to me with one hand on my knee and the other around the back of my seat, breathing heavily on my shoulder. This guy had talked on and on about his “wildly successful” financial consultation firm and asked me nothing about myself or my own job except whether I “came here often.” I’d finally pretended I needed to use the restroom, left Kari there—already suctioned onto a rebound guy anyway—and caught a taxi home. 

Zarc set the empty tumblers on the coffee table and poured a small amount of the dark amber liquid into each glass. There was no way I’d accept so much as an ice chip from this man, much less liquor, but if he was going to slip something into the drink to drug me he’d have done it at the sideboard where I couldn’t see what he was doing.

He sat down on the opposite couch facing me. I had seen his face on magazine covers and billboards, whether or not I wanted to look at them, but never in person. He was probably my age, with a strong masculine jawline but a youthful, softly curved cheek. He was widely regarded as the most attractive man in the city, but I didn’t really see what the fuss was all about.

The ridiculousness of this situation was starting to settle in. Kari would absolutely die if she could have seen me now. From everything I had unwillingly learned in overhearing her phone conversations and her idle crooning over gushy magazine articles, Zarc had mastered the art of being ostentatiously elusive: keeping himself just enough in the spotlight to stay in constant relevance but carefully avoiding tawdry scandals that would get slapped all over the tabloids. He was mysterious and superior to his ignominious peers, maintaining the focus of his fame entirely on his victories in the arena and leaving everything about his personal life up to the imagination of his fans. But not only had I stumbled blindly upon his private home, I’d actually been invited inside.

He picked up his own drink and said, “So, how did you find this place?”

I hesitated. The truth, “my coworker told me her boyfriend’s friend’s friend in the chauffeur business drove you here once,” seemed too stupid to offer. Instead, I said, “I thought your manager kept his office here. I wanted to see if I could make an appointment on behalf of our Research and Development Department, so I could talk about—”

“I see,” he said, disregarding my further explanation, “This building is owned by a real estate firm under the same name as my business at the arena,” he said, “If you really did some digging you could figure it out, but of course you wouldn’t get past the lobby unless I authorized the elevator. I keep the bodyguards at my property in downtown so the crazed fans can try to break in there all they’d like. Occasionally I get a few curious visitors ringing my doorbell here, but they don’t have much to go on and I can see who is bothering me from the security camera. But I saw you, Miss Akaba Ray, and I was curious what you might be doing here at this hour. I trust you’ll keep this location a secret.”

His tone was not one of making a request. Before I could assure him I would out of fear for my own safety, or even to reassert my purpose here, I realized this was the second time he’d addressed me by name. “You…know me?”

“You were in the Pro League until about three years ago,” he said casually, “Your father’s notoriety made you stand out, but you held your own just as well. Pretty good win rate. About the same as some of the current Elites were at the time, anyway.”

I didn’t know what to say. It had been quite a while since anyone even acknowledged I had been in the Pro League, much less knew my general win ratio off the top of their head afterI had been irrelevant for so long.

“It’s a pity you retired.”

My anger suddenly flared up again. Yes, it was a pity that Zarc’s ever-so-remarkable talent for popular brutality had led to my father dragging me out of the Pro League out of fear that I’d be mortally injured. What a pity, that Zarc had changed dueling for the worse and turned it all into a blood sport with his pompous, gratuitous, crowd-pleasing cruelty.

I tried to keep my voice even. “My father and I decided I should use my skills to help develop the Real SolidVision technology, so now I work there as a technician.”

He blinked at me over his glass, and said quietly, “That must be frustrating, backing behind the scenes after being in the spotlight.”

My hands balled into fists on my lap. How dare he try to relate to me. Of course it was frustrating. Of course I wished I could duel again, under the lights and the transfixed gaze of the audience, kicking off the ground and flying through the air with my monsters…but not if it meant risking my ability to walk, or worse. I wasn’t the only one. There were tons of duelists that had backed out of the Pro League out of fear for their physical well-being, and now we had come to my main point: that Zarc and the duelists that followed in his footsteps would have plenty more opponents if this violence were to stop.

“That’s what I—” I began, but he cut me off again.

“How does it work?”

I blinked. “What?”

“The Real SolidVision system. How does it work?”

I frowned in confusion at him. The Real SolidVision technology was general knowledge, especially for duelists who staked their careers in it. As the most accomplished duelist in the League, he should certainly already know how it works.

“Um,” I said, “It—your duel disk sends a signal to the main unit whenever you play a card, and it projects the monsters onto the Field.”

“No, no, I know that part,” he waved his hand to sweep away my superficial explanation, “But how do the monsters become solid like that? Where does that mass come from?”

So, he wanted the technical explanation. Even Kari couldn’t be bothered with the science behind the machine despite working in our office. But here was Zarc, the unequalled Champion of the League, asking me specific questions about my knowledge.

“The arena floor is made of fiberglass,” I answered, “So it’s porous, at a microscopic level. The main RSV unit is huge, and runs the entire length of the floor. It transforms energy into synthetic particles that can form together to make shapes with stable mass according to our three-dimensional models. It’s sort of like an instant 3-D printer, except the model’s stability is flexible. The particles can dissolve on command, and reform into a new shape. The energy sustains the shapes of the monsters according to the commands of the game.”

“So the system converts energy into mass,” he concluded succinctly.

“Electricity into temporary synthetic mass, yes.”

“But the monsters have body heat,” he said, “How is that possible if they’re made of synthetic particles?”

“It’s just an emission from the energy that sustains them,” I replied, “But the models are built to imitate a lifelike creature, with saliva and hair and skin and a breathing cycle, but it’s all synthetic. They’re not flesh and bone; it’s impossible to build and sustain organic substance with a machine.”

“And that all comes out of the main unit in the floor?”

“Yes.”

He nodded again slowly, staring into his drink. Maybe I was imagining it, but he looked slightly irritated by my answer. “And your father invented this?”

“The technology existed before, but he’s the one who implemented it into dueling,” I replied, “The projections’ durability was weaker back then and the projection unit was much smaller, so it was just used for decorative purposes in homes—change your garlands for the season, et cetera—but he saw its potential to make the game more exciting. He stayed late in his office night after night and he and his team built all of the solid models for the existing monster cards and ported in the attack commands and everything from the existing SolidVision version, adding in the tangible element so everything would feel real. It took a long time because of how many times his budget got stalled—the company didn’t think it was a priority, and kept insisting he set Duel Monsters aside for other implementations instead. So he went to all sorts of high-society sponsorship parties to get outside funding. He took me along once, when I was a teenager, so I could tell everyone about how much I loved playing Duel Monsters and how excited I was about his project in order to help get him sponsors. I got all dressed up, and Father let me taste his champagne, and I—I felt so grown-up and important. And finally when the project got enough sponsors, he went all over the world to collect data, testing various sources of energy and observing their effects on the projections. He would take me to the lab and show me the monsters he’d finished. So I promised myself I’d work really hard to get into the Pro League so I could make his amazing work shine and put on a great show for everyone and I’d—”

I stopped talking abruptly. Zarc was smiling slightly at my nostalgia. I’d let myself reminisce and forget where I was, and whom I was talking to, allayed by the soft curve of his cheek and his gentle, unthreatening voice. Somehow I’d even relaxed out of my stiff knees-together position and actually crossed my legs like I was comfortable. _What are you doing!? You didn’t come here for a sentimental chat!  
_

I steeled myself, sitting up straight again and pressing my knees and ankles back together. “Because of what you did,” I kept my eyes fixed on the empty seat of the couch beside him rather than at his face, “My father is too ashamed of all that work to go out anymore. The Real Fights have made him miserable, they’ve ruined his reputation. He’s a good man.”

It was a weak, mushy argument. I’d had a strong argument before, but I couldn’t even remember it anymore; it had all fallen through the cracks in my disorientation at finding myself sitting with this man. What business did I have begging for the credit of my father from Zarc, who profited grossly from his own merciless talents at the expense of my poor father’s happiness? He was a superstar. One old engineer’s depression was no concern of his among the roars of approval from his fans and admirers. I was stupid. This whole plan was stupid.

Zarc finished off his drink and set the glass on the coffee table with a thoughtful tap. “The thing about reputation,” he said, “Is that it’s all about what everyone else thinks. Your father’s work allows the duelists to entertain the crowd the way the crowd wants, doesn’t it? Everyone is pleased and excited by it. Doesn’t that mean his reputation is good?”

I couldn’t answer. Yes…even after the Real Fights began, my father was congratulated for his excellent innovation. Everyone _was_ pleased, everyone was thrilled at how Real SolidVision had brought about a new evolution of dueling. My father’s misery was his own, not due to any shame dealt to him, but it was undue all the same.

Zarc stood up suddenly, as though his thoughts impulsed him to move, and wandered around behind the couch he’d been sitting in.

“There’s no such thing as ‘good,’ anyway,” he went on, dragging his hand casually along the back of his couch with his eyes on the window, “There’s no medal for achieving moral superiority. There’s just what everyone wants from you, and whether you have the guts to fulfill it. ‘Good’ is just the label everyone else determines, isn’t it?” He stood at the window, and I watched him as he looked down at the glittering city that lay below him, “The people want what they want, and if you give it to them, they’ll reward you and then ask for more. If they approve of you, you are ‘good.’”

I stood up suddenly, my hands balled into fists, and he turned around to look at me with vague surprise, as though he’d almost forgotten I was there in the few seconds that he’d looked away from me.

“You may have instigated the Real Fights and everyone else thinks you’re _so great_ but you’ll never be _good_.” Sharp anger was running through me again. I wanted to punch him in his stupid tacky face. “My father wanted to create something wonderful for everyone to enjoy, he dedicated his life and all of his skills to make something new. You just—you took an accident and turned it into a horrifying trend—you make me sick, the way you _get off_ on all the attention you get from torturing your opponents in the arena—you don’t deserve _any_ of this! How dare you compare yourself to my father! How dare you—how— _I hate you_ and your fan club and your nasty monsters and—and—!” 

The look on his face had turned ugly. I turned on my heel and marched toward the elevator, across the vast, empty marble floor. I slammed my hand down on the call button and the doors slid open immediately to admit me. I stepped inside and turned around.

“You’re revolting,” I said, “I’d once thought since you had the same gift I do you’d be—but no, you’re not special. You’re just a cruel, cocky gasbag and you—”

“Gift?”

He was walking toward me. The elevator car had no buttons and I couldn’t make the doors close before he reached me. I hadn’t meant to mention it. It wasn’t something I liked to think about, but it was undeniable from even the few of his duels I had had the stomach to watch.

The elevator doors started to close, but he got there first. He put one hand on the edge of the door to force it back open, and closed his other around my wrist.

“What gift? What do you know?”

I tried fruitlessly to wrench my wrist out of his hand. “Nothing—! I don’t know anything—! Let me go!”

“ _Tell me_!”

I was scared. With the grip he had on my wrist he could drag me out of the elevator and fling me across the room. I’d seen him do it in the TV recaps to much larger men. He could slam me into the wall. He could break my arm in his hand. I’d seen him do it. “Please,” I whispered. If I spoke any louder I would start sobbing in panic. No one knew I was here. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. “Please let me go.”

He looked at my face with some mixture of annoyance and compunction, and then relaxed the hand holding my wrist. I backed all the way against the back wall of the elevator with my arms around my chest, as though that would prevent him from grabbing me again. He kept his hand on the elevator door; I was still trapped.

“What did you mean, I have the same gift that you do?” he said with feigned politeness that hardly concealed his impatience.

He wasn’t going to let me leave until I explained my statement. I could lie—but no lie would work on him now if he suspected the truth already. If he knew what gift I meant.

“The monsters,” I said quietly, still with my arms wrapped protectively around me, “You can hear them, can’t you? I can—I can understand their feelings. Their bodies may not be real but their spirits feel alive to me. I’ve always kept it a secret because I never met anyone else who could, but…you can communicate with them. They speak to you.”

His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the elevator door. “How can you tell?”

I weighed my options again, and still in my panic decided to tell the truth. “I thought I was just imagining it for the longest time—but the way you move with them in the arena, it’s obvious to me. We were in different strings in the Dueling League even back then so we never met in person but—even when I’d watch you, I could see that you were listening to them and learning from them and I felt like they… _knew_ you.”

He didn’t reply, but simply stared at me in astonishment as though he’d never seen anything like me before in his life.

“May I leave now?” I stared at the floor of the elevator.  


He blinked, and seemed to realize that his hand on the elevator door was preventing me from leaving. He slowly slid his hand away and took a step back as the doors finally closed, and the elevator moved smoothly downward.

~~~

I didn’t tell Kari that I’d visited the address she’d mentioned. I told her nothing of my conversation with Zarc, or his huge, empty tower home overlooking the city. That I had berated him for my father’s shame, or confessed to sharing a strange, unexplainable secret with him while he trapped me in his elevator. It was like it never happened, and Kari continued to sigh at her admin desk over each of Zarc’s new press cuttings and tacky photoshoots, sometimes on the phone with her boyfriend from the fan club, while I pretended not to hear her and focused on my test duel result graphs.

On Thursday she was distracted, because the fancy sponsorship party she was supposed to go to with her boyfriend was on Saturday and she still hadn’t decided which of the four pairs of shoes she’d bought would go best with her dress, even after I’d given her my advice three times.

“Here’s your mail, Ray,” she said, dropping a stack onto my desk and then immediately shoving another fashion magazine into my face and poking one of the photos with her index finger. “What do you think of _this_ updo? Would my hair be too curly for that?”

“Updos always look better with curly hair,” I said firmly, with no idea what I was talking about. I was tired of her constant fussing and glad it would all be over on Monday after the party. “You should put a fancy clip in it.”

“Funny you should mention that, I got a couple different ones, I wanted to know if…” and she dragged me immediately into another debate over her hair clips, whether the rhinestone one or the one shaped like a flower would be better. I insisted on the flower, since the rhinestones would distract from the new earrings her boyfriend had given her—“Can you believe he bought me _diamonds!?_ ”—on their last big date. She seemed satisfied with my reasoning, and finally went back to her desk and left me alone.

I was happy to see that the newest issue of my home and office organization magazine had arrived, along with some usual ads for department store sales and restaurants, and also a thick, square envelope with no return address.

The envelope was made of embossed paper, and my full name and the office address were printed in fine gilt ink. It seemed very luxurious; I wondered if it was a cleverly-disguised sample ad from the expensive cosmetic shop in the mall; I’d bought one lip gloss there to appease Kari on an outing last year and somehow ended up on their inescapable mailing list. I’d never even worn that lip gloss.

A black folded card came out of the envelope, with my name printed in gold again on the inside: 

>   _Miss Akaba Ray,_
> 
> _You are cordially invited to_
> 
> _the AETHER ARENA SPONSORSHIP GALA_
> 
> _at the Stardust Hotel_  

—and dated for this Saturday night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but does he smell like the magazines though
> 
> Chapter 2: Champagne


	2. Champagne

The Stardust Hotel was the fanciest accommodation in downtown, servicing the Aether Arena for the Elites and whatever high-profile patrons would come to watch the duels. Any party held there was extremely exclusive, only for sponsors, investors, and representatives of Elites, besides the Elites themselves. I clutched my invitation nervously, half-expecting to be turned away at the doors as an impostor. I had no business here, after all; how did I know this invitation wasn’t some elaborate prank? Nevertheless, I’d bought a new pewter satin off-the-shoulder cocktail dress and matching shoes after work yesterday, spent three hours earlier today doing and redoing my hair and makeup and fussing over jewelry, all the while unsure as to what I would even be doing this evening. Shrinking into the corner with a drink I’d bought myself, probably. If I got in the door, that is. This invitation almost looked _too_ formal, after all. It must be a fake. I wasn’t important enough to be invited to a party like this.

I took the elevator with two other couples that were dressed to the nines, starting to feel awkward that I was arriving alone. The other women, with their arms curled around their gentlemen’s elbows, looked curiously from me to the invitation in my hands. I stared at the mirrored ceiling of the elevator. I looked really nice, actually. I ought to dress up more.

The elevator chimed and admitted us to the ballroom level, where across a wide, marble-floored hallway the hotel attendants were waiting to greet us and check our invitations. I hung back behind the two couples to watch them be admitted first, and to avoid the shame of being turned away in front of them while the ladies laughed at me behind their hands. The first gentleman presented his invitation. Oh god, it was white. Gold print on white paper. Mine was black. Of course mine was a fake. Why would someone do this to me? Who would want to prank me like this? I looked over my shoulder, as though some unknown trickster was going to leap out from around the corner and yell _Gotcha_!

The second gentleman presented his invitation, and he and his date were bowed cordially into the dark ballroom. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought the lady peered back over her shoulder at me as they walked in.

It was just me left, standing there like an idiot with my fake invitation. The doorman held out his hand. “Your invitation, miss?”

“I, um,” I allowed myself a sheepish laugh, starting to just turn around and leave, “I’m sorry, I have this…thing.” I waved it nonchalantly like the garbage it was. 

He nodded, and kept his hand outstretched. “Yes, miss.” He didn’t seem concerned over the differently-colored invitation. I handed it to him, waiting for him to tell me to leave or be escorted out. But he looked at it with a casual glance at my name printed in fancy gold lettering, and said, “Miss Akaba, of course. Right this way.” He nodded to his colleague at the other door, who stepped in to take his place. He offered me his elbow, just like how the gentlemen in front of me had led their dates. I took it in a daze, wondering if I should ask him what was going on or simply pretend like I knew what I was doing here. 

He walked me through the crowd to a small bar table with two high-seated chairs, centered with a candle and dainty vial with two roses; one deep red and one pink. “Your table, miss,” the doorman said, “Please keep your invitation on your person; it will allow you to come and go from the ballroom as you please.”

“Right, thank you,” I said, and hastily fished in my purse for a couple of bills to tip him. 

The doorman smiled indulgently, and shook his head. “No, no, miss. That’s been taken care of.”

He left, and no sooner had he disappeared back into the crowd than a tidy waitress appeared, set a napkin and a flute of champagne down on the table in front of me, and said, “Compliments, miss.”

There was a slice of fresh strawberry floating in the champagne, collecting little bubbles like a crystal. I sipped it, looking around. At another high-seated bar table was one of the Elites, surrounded by an entourage of two women and two personal assistants. They called him Rugen the Crippler, and his luckier opponents ended up in the hospital. A hotel attendant replaced his empty glass with a new one, and Rugen tossed a crumpled bill across the table at her as a tip. She picked it up and slipped it into her pocket, with no polite refusal.

“Ray? Ray!”

With a mixture of shock and relief I looked around at the sound of my own name. Kari was here, wearing a baby-blue ruffly number and hanging off the arm of her smartly-dressed boyfriend as they approached the bar. 

“Oh my god!” Kari squealed, and some high-ranking corporate gentlemen at the bar looked around in disapproval. “You look _so_ pretty!”

“You too,” I smiled, glad to have found someone I knew. Even after all her fussing about her outfit all week I’d forgotten that she’d be here, too distracted with my own anxiety. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming too!” she went on, as her boyfriend—Danny?—leaned over to order from the bartender and offered his payment card for the tab. “Did you get in as a plus-one? Who are you with?” She looked expectantly at the other empty seat across at my table, as though a gentleman would pop into existence there to introduce himself as my date.

“Um, no,” I said, setting my champagne down on the table and digging into my purse to extract the gilded black invitation, “This just showed up in the mail on Thursday, so…”  


Kari stared at it with comically wide eyes, her mouth agape. “That’s a VIP invitation!”

I looked down at it. It didn’t say VIP anywhere on it, just my name and the details of the event. “Is it?”

Danny reappeared with an extravagant fruity cocktail for Kari and something clear and fizzy for himself, took one look at my invitation as well, and said, “Geez, is that a VIP invitation?”

“What does that _mean_?” I said, annoyed, and stuffed the black invitation back into my purse so they would stop gaping at it.

“Sponsors, investors, and corporate representatives buy these to attend,” he flashed his white invitation out of his jacket pocket, “But the black ones are for invited guests. Elites, you know, like—” he nodded over my shoulder at Rugen and his gang of sycophants. “—the people we want to sign onto our contracts, for the publicity. The big-deal people.”

“I’m not a ‘big-deal,’” I protested, “I just work for Research and Development. Real SolidVision doesn’t need sponsors; we generate revenue from the arenas that use our product.”

“Sure,” Danny said, “But, wow, I guess someone at the arena hosting tonight wants to kowtow to your research department. Your dad developed the system, right?”

“He was the chief engineer for reconfiguring the machine for Duel Monsters,” I recited mechanically, finishing off my glass of champagne. I stared into the bottom of the flute and pointed at the soggy strawberry, leaning over to Kari and whispering, “Am I supposed to eat this?”

She shrugged, and winked at me. “Danny needs to schmooze Rugen for a touring deal. They want to be his exclusive transport providers.”

“Good luck,” I said, glancing over at Rugen’s table, “He seems like a handful.”

Danny waved his hand as though to shoo away the concern. “We have a fleet of luxury limousines,” he said. “Accommodating the whims of celebrities is our specialty, after all.”

“I wonder if Zarc needs an exclusive transportation contract,” Kari pondered. My stomach twisted at the sound of the name. “Baby, if you see him, will you introduce me?”

Danny laughed as though to dismiss the idea, but it hardly concealed his sudden excitement at the thought. I saw his eyes sweep the room for several seconds, before looking dismayed. “I don’t see him here,” he said, “I’m sure he already has his services handled, though…”

She pouted, but quickly changed the subject. “That’s funny,” she said, pointing at the vase of two roses on my table, “All the other tables have white roses. These ones sort of match your hair, don’t they?”

She was right; the two roses in the vase did vaguely resemble my hair colors. Rugen’s table featured a white rose, which was pushed aside to make room for his and his entourage’s many beverages, and every other table that I could see was decorated with a white rose.

“Anyway, gotta go,” Kari wiggled her fingers to say goodbye, and winked again. “Have fun! Enjoy your special treatment.”

I watched them as Danny straightened his posture and engaged Rugen in conversation, waving down a waiter to order him another drink. Rugen seemed not to even notice him. One of Rugen’s two bodyguards stood up to stand next to Danny, seemingly just to intimidate him, as Kari hung behind.

“Your glass, miss?” my waitress was back too, offering her hand to take my empty champagne flute. I handed it to her, and she set another full glass, complete with a strawberry slice again, on my table with a fresh napkin. I offered her the tip that the first attendant had refused, but she waved her hand to dismiss it, instead handing me a gilded dinner menu in a black leather case.

“I thought it was a buffet?” I said, pointing at the wide spread of fancily-garnished food laid out on a table by the window.

The waitress smiled. “VIPs receive dinner service at their table, miss. Take your time.”

I glanced down at the menu, and my waitress had only just begun to walk away when I waved her back and whispered, a little ashamed to have to point this out, “I’m sorry, there aren’t any prices listed on the menu?”

Perhaps I was imagining it, but she looked a little pitying at my ignorance. “Please don’t worry about it, Miss. It’s been taken care of. Enjoy your evening.”

She left quickly, maybe too quickly, before I could protest.

There was another Elite Duelist at one of the far tables whom I recognized as Jericho, whose specialty was snaring his opponents in Traps before slowly, torturously draining their Life away. He looked bored as his personal manager talked with a smartly-dressed investor, probably hashing out the terms of some contract or other.

“Excuse me, Miss Akaba, is it?”

I looked up. One of the two gentlemen that had scoffed at Kari’s noise had approached my table. He was wearing a sleek black tuxedo with a brightly-colored pocket square folded neatly on his breast. “My name is Ayuma Tetsu, I’m a representative of Sundustra. You are the daughter of Professor Akaba, is that right?”

“That’s right,” I was a little taken aback, but it wasn’t surprising. My father was quite well-known. “How…how can I help you?”

He adjusted his lapels, and smiled. “Our company is looking for investments. Forgive me for overhearing—you’re a representative of Real SolidVision’s Research and Development department?”

“Well, yes,” I said. “I’m part of the Practical Engineering team. We test the Real SolidVision updates, make sure it’s working properly for integration in the arenas, test the Monster models in the laboratory and on the Field, handle the signal communication between the Duel Disks and the Field…you know, all the nuts and bolts.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Ayuma said fervently, “Sundustra has been looking for projects to apply our cutting-edge solar energy technology to. Investments, if you will. We want to show the world that Sundustra can power anything and everything, and high-capacity Entertainment Technology like Real SolidVision is exactly the type of product we would love to sponsor. High-profile advertising.”

I took a sip of champagne, processing this statement, while Danny’s words echoed back in my mind, _I guess someone at one of these corporations wants to kowtow to the research department._ Was I really being treated like an investment opportunity by corporate investors? Who had even invited me?

Ayuma went on, “Would you be interesting in partnering with Sundustra as the exclusive source of energy for the Real SolidVision device?”

“Solar energy doesn’t typically regenerate fast enough,” I said, deciding to be honest and straightforward. “It can gather enough for a strong output but RSV uses it up so quickly that it wouldn’t last more than one or two turns in an Arena Duel.”

“Yes, we’re aware of the current limits,” Ayuma replied, “But we’d like to use your product as the means for our own research in high-capacity energy efficiency. Will you think about it?” He offered me a business card.

“Of course,” I said, and put the business card in my purse. He excused himself politely to move across to his next networking target, and allowed me to finish off my second glass of champagne. My waitress returned to take my dinner order; I chose a seabream dish that didn’t look too heavy. Being treated like an Elite was a little surreal; like everyone was being aggressively accommodating.

“Miss Akaba,” another young man, this time escorting a lady, approached my table, “May we buy you a drink?”

“I’m not sure there’s any point,” I said, bewildered, as my waitress set a third glass of champagne in front of me without a word, “They just keep bringing them.”

The conversation began again. He had heard from Mr. Ayuma that I was the Practical Engineering Representative of Real SolidVision and would love an opportunity to chat with me, too. He worked for a toy company who wanted to develop a miniature version of the RSV device for household Dueling, which they’d market to children. He made flattering remarks about my department’s work, and he and his date laughed at my unfunny, nervous jokes. I took his business card, he and his date moved along.

The evening wore on this way; somehow my reputation spread around the room quickly and my job title grew in grandeur every time it was quoted back at me. “Practical Engineering Representative” turned into “Chief Practical Engineering Advisor” and then into “Executive of Practical Engineering Relations.” It was really quite ridiculous. My dinner arrived with more champagne, and I was joined by a lady from the press, hoping to do a news piece on the new developments in the RSV system. I took her business card. My waitress brought me dessert—even though I hadn’t ordered any—and another gentleman was interested in setting up tours for the public through the testing facility. I took his business card. After four glasses of champagne and an excellent meal I was brave enough to venture into the crowd to check in with Kari, but found myself constantly pulled into conversations with corporate investors, collecting more business cards. Everyone was friendly, interested in my work, complimenting the advancements my team had made in our field. I found Kari and Danny by the dinner buffet; Danny had gotten a lukewarm response from Rugen, according to Kari, but had made better headway on convincing Jericho to sign a deal.  


“Are you having fun?” she said, “I really never see you being social outside of work, and here you are at a party just talking about work again.”  


“It’s nice,” I said honestly, “I feel—important. When Father pulled me out of the professional Dueling sphere I thought I’d never enjoy myself in the Research Department but…everyone here is being really flattering.”  


“There are a lot of rich men here,” Kari pointed out, “Find one of them to flatter you and get him to buy you something expensive.”  


“I don’t need a rich boyfriend.”

“I didn’t say boyfriend,” she said with a wink, wrapping her arm around Danny’s waist, “You’re out of the lab and doing something fun for once. You look hot when you dress up. Let loose!”  
  
Danny pulled her away to dance. The string quartet in the corner struck up a slow, lilting song and I watched through the crowd as Kari laid her head against Danny’s shoulder. The lights over the floor dimmed to a warm, romantic cast, like the effect that candlelight might have given. I stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching each couple for a few moments at a time, letting the effect of the champagne carry my thoughts into the softer reaches of my imagination. Perhaps Kari was right; perhaps I should find someone to entertain me for the evening. I’d gotten all dressed up but I felt like I was still missing an essential accessory. This was a nice song, I would have liked to dance to it.

A hand gently took me by the elbow. I turned to see what gentleman might have finally approached me. 

But it was another hotel attendant. “The corporate hosts have invited all the VIPs into the Blackrose Lounge,” he said.

“Oh,” I replied blankly. “O—okay.”

He offered me his arm, and I allowed him to lead me to the back of the ballroom and through a set of double doors that was guarded by a doorman and a velvet rope. If the event hosts had invited me in there, maybe they’d have a more thorough explanation as to why I’d been added to the VIP shortlist. Even as the “Executive of Practical Engineering Relations,” it didn’t make any sense. That wasn’t even my real job title. I was just a Duel Technician, one of several on the same team under my father. Not special.

The doorman showed me through to the Blackrose Lounge, which was a darker, more intimate room off the main ballroom. It had its own bar, and a separate back entrance for guests to bypass the crowd. A group of men were sitting at an arrangement of leather wing-backed chairs and couches around a glossy coffee table, some of them smoking cigars, and I recognized almost all of them; Rugen was here, in the center of a couch, flanked on either side by his two women-companions like crooning pets. While I glanced at them, Rugen offered one of them a cigarette from between his fingers, and the lady took a draw from it as he held it, before he put it in his own mouth.

I tried a small smile at the two ladies. One of them was idly examining the state of her heavily-rhinestoned manicure, and the other cast a disdainful glance at me before leaning to look behind me, as though she expected me to be the escort of someone more interesting. It was clear that I had nothing in common with these women; even the heels of their shoes were higher than mine. Their skin had that covetable golden sheen that I could never had attained from sitting inside a basement test lab, the perfectly-applied makeup from years of practice I could never justify spending the time on, and yet I distinctly saw Rugen’s eyes fall idly upon the spot between my knees and the hem of my dress, his tongue flashing momentarily between his rough lips. 

Jericho, too, was lounging in an armchair beside his manager, both of them smoking cigars and talking in low tones. The other Elite Duelists were here; a man called Flintlock, wearing his typical array of heavy gold chains and rings, next to his bored-looking date with a similar style of jewelry; Diesel, whose Machine monsters barraged his opponents with vicious assaults, with a bodyguard apparently just for decoration; and, slightly pushed back from the circle in a wing-backed leather armchair, unaccompanied, Zarc. My stomach twisted when I saw him, remembering his intimidating presence when we had met before. He did not acknowledge me.

I took my seat in a barrel armchair, acutely aware that every single one of these impressive men had built their fame and fortunes by committing acts of violence with the technology my father had spent years so many years developing. I hated all of them. I hated that my job was to perfect and develop the technology that they used for acts of atrocity. I hated that they all had ruined my life. A hotel attendant placed a new glass of champagne on the table beside me without a word.

“Miss Akaba!” another smartly-dressed older gentlemen sitting beside me held out his hand to shake mine. He had neatly-parted greying hair and the poise of a seasoned businessman. “My name is Shino Kouta. I own the Aether Arena—and this hotel, of course—and am the exclusive host of this event. I’ve corresponded with your father quite a lot over the years.”

“Yes, I remember you,” I said, which was true: Father had had him over to our house for dinner a couple of times several years ago when he was trying to promote the implementation of Real SolidVision into Duel Monsters.

“The professor has been a bit hard to catch these past couple of years,” Shino mused, “He speaks with our maintenance team to arrange installations and tune-ups before the tournaments but he has been quite difficult to pull into investment meetings. I was thrilled to hear you’d been added to our guest list for this evening; I would love a chance to talk about the newest advancements with the machine.”

“I’m very honored,” I replied, still confused by his wording: _I was thrilled to hear you’d been added to our guest list_. Wasn’t this _his_ gala? Didn’t he get to decide who was added to the guest list? “I didn’t realize so many businesses were interested in investing in our research.”

“But of course,” another gentleman from across the circle chimed in, wearing a name tag that matched Shino’s, “RSV is the greatest innovation in Entertainment Technology this century. Plenty of companies would like to partner with it for their own ventures, especially with the popularity of the game.” 

Of all the gentlemen in the room, he was seated the closest to Zarc. I guessed that Zarc had spent the whole evening back here with these event hosts, receiving his dinner service away from the crowd so the event hosts could keep him to themselves to focus on their agreements while Rugen and Jericho and the other Elites had to mingle out on the main floor with the masses.

“So, Miss Akaba,” Shino redirected my attention, “You decided to become a scientist, like your father? It seems like intelligence runs in your family.”

“I’m a duelist,” I said reflexively. “We run practical tests in the lab and on mock Fields before they’re implemented in the arena, and develop new, more efficient ways to run the machine. Actually,” I tapped my purse full of business cards, “Some of the contacts I made this evening talked to me about partnering to make the device run on renewable energy. A more efficient energy system could cut costs quite a bit.”

Shino clapped his hands and laughed. “That _is_ certainly something I’d want to invest in. The energy needed for running the machine is one of our greatest costs at the arena. We’d certainly love to support the research for a project that could run the machine more efficiently with less of a heavy power output.”

I was about to respond, but was interrupted all of a sudden by a gruff voice across the circle. “Wait, I’ve seen you before.”

I looked over. Diesel was pointing at me with his cigar. 

“You use to be in the Pro League,” he said, “But you quit when the Real Fights started.”

I took a sip of champagne to avoid answering for a moment, and then replied, “The Board of Directors invited me onto the Development team at RSV.”

“A lot of girl duelists quit when the Real Fights got popular,” this time it was Rugen to cut in as he pulled one of his arms from around one of his girlfriends’ shoulders to lean toward me, “Didn’t want to get their hands dirty. Broken bones are ugly.”

“Your daddy made the RSV machine, right?” Diesel said with a sneer through his cigar smoke, “I guess favoritism only goes so far. Your daddy couldn’t save you from a broken neck.”

“He never—” I started weakly, but Rugen’s laughter drowned me out.

“I never liked to duel girls anyway,” he cackled, sloshing some of his beer onto the lap of one of his girlfriends, “Felt like a waste of time. They don’t put up much of a fight, and they break too easily. The card makers know girls are worthless at dueling so all the cards they make for girls are worthless. Flowers and birds and some other kitschy baby trash.”

My head was swimming a little. I couldn’t quite formulate a response; my chest and my throat were tightening and I glancing around the room, looking for a way to escape without making it obvious that I was about to cry. It was becoming even more obvious again that I didn’t belong here, sitting among all these men whose actions had driven out every duelist in the old League who wasn’t willing to raise the stakes to the level they had.

“I bet you only got accepted into the League because your daddy was famous, eh?” Diesel taunted, “What was your win rate? Forty-two?”

_Eighty-two. Same as yours, Diesel. And I worked so hard, I did everything myself, I was well within the standard acceptance percentile…_

“I’m glad the Real Fights weeded out the fakes,” Rugen was saying, “Dueling isn’t for p—”

_Keep it together, Ray, don’t cry, don’t cry, not in front of these horrible people—_

There was a sudden _smash_ and everyone fell into immediate silence as Zarc suddenly shouted in a voice that sliced cleanly through the room, “I said _no ice_!”

It took me a moment to realize what had happened; I took in the scene like a bizarre tableau as everyone stared, frozen, at Zarc. The waiter beside him held an empty tray, looking baffled and stricken, as the shards of Zarc’s newest drink glass lay on the floor against the wall ten feet away. The waiter looked from Zarc to the broken glass and then to Shino, who made a frantic gesture to indicate that the waiter should replace the glass, and he hurried away.

Diesel rolled his eyes and took a draw from his cigar, and Rugen muttered something into the ear of one of his girlfriends, who smirked for his benefit, but she dropped the expression as soon as he looked away.

Shino made a nervous laugh to break the tension. “I’m sure the Board of Directors recognized the value of Miss Akaba’s unique intelligence and the need to preserve it,” he said, casting a subtle but deploring glance at Rugen.

There was about an inch of beer left in Rugen’s glass, but he handed it to one of his girlfriends to finish it off for him. “Whatever,” he grunted. This time his lingering gaze fell unapologetically on a spot below my collarbone as he shifted a bit in his seat, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

Maybe it was my imagination, but Shino looked distinctly nervous. He patted my hand again to pull my attention back to him and said, “I don’t suppose, Miss Akaba, that you have any, ah, new developments to Real SolidVision in the works? Just between us.” He winked. Even Flintlock and Jericho stopped chatting to listen in. Knowing the inside scoop on the technology could help their game, after all.

The waiter returned with a new drink for Zarc. It happened so quickly that my slowed observation almost missed it, but I distinctly saw him place a tightly-folded piece of paper on the tray as he took the new glass, and the waiter turned on his heel without a word as a second hotel attendant swept up the pieces of the rejected drink. In the same instant, my waitress reappeared with a fresh flute of champagne to replace my empty glass.

I sipped my fresh champagne, and decided under its encouragement to play along, now that Rugen and Diesel seemed to have forgotten their interest in tormenting me. Nevertheless, I felt I ought to prove myself, and I managed to recover quickly. I batted my eyelashes. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell.”

“Even just a hint,” Shino pressed cajolingly, “Everyone here can thank their career to your departments’ work. What are your next advancements, eh?” He patted my hand again.

Even behind the buzz of the champagne I knew that most of our projects and updates to the RSV machine were classified, but not everything I was working on was an official department project yet. I could share one, something unremarkable. I smiled. “Well,” I pulled my hand away to open my purse. “There’s a little project I’ve been working on with my father. It’s not in real production yet; just a little gadget he and I made together.”

I pulled it out of my purse. It was about the size of a credit card, with a smooth black screen and a chrome rim. I set it face-up on the coffee table in front of us, and activated the screen with two short taps.

“It’s a miniature duel disk!” Shino exclaimed. Diesel, Flintlock, Jericho, and Rugen all leaned in to peer at the device. Zarc made no acknowledgement of it, and stared in disinterest down at his drink.

“Not quite,” I explained. I tapped the screen a couple times. “We’ve been calling it the DDC - ‘Duel Disk Communicator’. This prototype doesn’t have the ability to read the data off of the cards or interact with the main RSV system, but it stores my contacts and can communicate with other duel disks using the same signal technology.”

“If it can’t be used to play the game, what’s the point,” Jericho flopped backward in his seat, ostentatiously bored. 

“Well, this is just a prototype,” I conceded, “But it does contain some technology that we’re hoping to add into duel disks if it can maintain stability at this stage.” I tapped the screen again, swiped through a list of options, and tapped again. A slit along the side of the device glowed, and one of my monsters appeared on the table in miniature form, projected as a stable hologram. One of my “kitschy baby trash” monsters, as Rugen had so eloquently described it.

Diesel leaned back in. I tried not to stare at him, but even Zarc glanced up to look at the monster.

“Is it solid?” Rugen interjected.

“It is,” I said, and reached out my little finger to stroke the monster’s hair.

“Portable Real SolidVision?” Shino peered closely at it. “Without the main RSV system?”

“This miniature version is a test model,” I said, “The communication channels are more stable as of now. Projecting a tiny replica of a monster with Real SolidVision is still a huge energy drain and the current Disk batteries can’t support it for more than a minute or two, but we’re hoping to perfect this technology and implement it into Duel Disks so the monsters appear on the Field as a shared projection between the main RSV system and the Duel Disks themselves. It will split the impact of the data between the two machines.”

The duelists and corporate executives murmured their interest, but then Zarc spoke again.

“There’s a lag between turns,” he said quietly, “When the monsters flicker for a second, like the projection is glitching. Could this thing fix that?”

The other Elite duelists looked at him. I could tell from their facial expressions that they had not even noticed the lag he was talking about, nor expected him to speak to me at all. I took this as my opportunity to look directly at Zarc as well.

It was as though we’d never talked at his home, with his coffee table between us, discussing my dueling career and my father’s reputation until I divulged that we shared a strange secret. His gaze was cold and unfamiliar, as though he had neither memory of nor interest in who I was. But upon being addressed by him in this context, with this room full of Elites watching Zarc with some mixture of adoration and contempt, I felt the heat rise in my face. 

“We think so,” I choked, “It’s a—an effect of the heavy amount of data that the software has to regenerate every turn. We’re hoping that by dividing the projection data between the RSV system and the Disks, the Field will refresh seamlessly.”

Zarc seemed satisfied by my answer, and leaned back into his seat without another word.

Rugen leaned forward and snatched the DDC off the table. My miniature monster flickered out of sight. He turned it over in his hands, showing it to his two lady friends, and said, “So when does this get added to our disks?”

I shook myself a little. The champagne was catching up to me, but my DDC in his hands made me nervous. All of my personal information and contacts were in there. “At this point the technology is just in the testing stage until we can stabilize the energy output. Potentially this could grow into a development that balances the energy used to project the monsters, and lower the electricity requirement on the main RSV unit by making the disk batteries run at a higher capacity,” I explained, “But our budget is still focused mostly on the arena model, so development on this is low priority.”

I held out my hand to receive my DDC back, but Rugen tossed it across the circle to Diesel, who spent some time fiddling with it, projecting random monsters from my library onto the arm of his chair and flicking them carelessly to test their solidity. Zarc leaned over in his chair to speak to Shino’s associate beside him, who promptly stood up to pry the device gently from Diesel and hand it to Zarc. He examined it, running his fingers along the edges of the device, as Shino engaged me in conversation again.

“Would the device be installed into existing disks, or would every duelist need to upgrade to an entirely new disk?”

“Hypothetically, it could be included as a feature in newly produced disks,” I said, “But it could begin initially as an add-on that would be installed into the disks we already own, or replace part of them.”

Zarc slid the DDC back across the table to me. I picked it up and snapped it back into my purse before any of the other duelists could grab it.

The conversation turned away from my relevance, toward each Duelists’ individual appearance schedules; I tuned most of it out and focused on more champagne, until—

“When I’m the King,” Rugen interjected, “I’ll book this whole hotel for private parties. Exclusive. And we can split the profit from the cover charge seventy-thirty.”

I looked up from my drink. Zarc fixed his gaze firmly on Rugen, and then his mouth cracked into a wide grin. It was a threatening smile, like a wild animal baring its fangs, and a stark change from the passive, bored expression he’d maintained until now. “When _you’re_ the King?”

“You can’t stay at the top forever,” Rugen said, and the slur in his speech gave away how exceptionally drunk he was. One of his girlfriends glanced up at the ceiling, as though ashamed to look at him. “Someone will take you down eventually. I only wish it were me. Get your hospital bed ready, Supreme King, or your casket. Not that there’ll be much left of you for it.”

Zarc held Rugen’s gaze with his wide, cold smile. Jericho and his manager started to whisper to each other, his manager shaking his head repeatedly. 

“We don’t, ah—” Shino was rubbing his hands together nervously and trying to break the tension with a halfhearted laugh, “We don’t typically host Duels between Elites, for the sake of—”

“Then how do we know _he’s_ the reigning champion if none of us get to challenge him?” Rugen demanded. “I want what’s mine!”

“ _You_?” Diesel slammed his fist on the coffee table, “If anyone’s going to challenge ‘Supreme King Zarc,’ it’ll be me! I have more wins than you!”

“My ratings are higher and I’ve held my seat longer!” Rugen spat back, “I have way more fans than you, you bastard!”

Flintlock shouted his way in with a string of obscenities, Jericho’s manager switched from whispers to full-out bellowing in protest as Jericho loudly insisted he have a turn at Zarc’s seat as well, Shino weakly calling out, “Gentlemen! Gentlemen, please—”

“I’m sure we can arrange a show.”

Zarc had not raised his voice. It was incredible that he could even be heard above the tumult, but even at his words all six men fell silent. Zarc looked at the man who sat beside me, with his grin settling into a cold smirk.

“Don’t you think, Shino? It would certainly attract a crowd to your arena, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah—yes, I suppose,” Shino was wringing his hands and casting nervous glances at Jericho’s manager, who was not even bothering to hide his panic.

It was clear why the room suddenly felt so tense. Elites didn’t fight each other; they held their own tournaments and amassed their own fan-followings, but never clashed for the sakes of their own careers. It was a marketing technique that the League directors had devised, after the Real Fights took over the old dueling methods, to optimize revenue from the fans. There were five Elite seats and each could maintain their fame until a newcomer won his way through their tournament and knocked them off of the pillar. Zarc had the highest fan rating, the highest win ratio, and the longest seated term as an Elite, which earned him his title as Champion. If any duelist managed to defeat Zarc while Rugen still held his seat, the status of Champion would pass to Rugen. But even a broken bone could end an Elite’s career and—well, that was the luckiest any opponent of an Elite could hope to get. The promise of power and riches and glory to anyone who managed to take an Elite’s place kept Duelists flocking to the arena to challenge them, but by now unseating any of these men was extremely unlikely. I didn’t know whether any of these Elites really could defeat Zarc, but given the secret I knew about him…it might be impossible.

“I can’t imagine you’d turn down an opportunity to bring in so much revenue,” Zarc went on smugly, glancing down at the half-inch of amber liquid in his glass, “A Battle of the Elites. It could be an exhibition.”

“An e-exhibition?” Shino stammered, “Not a tournament?”

“They said they all wanted an opportunity to unseat me,” Zarc replied calmly. Jericho cracked his knuckles, as though on cue. “One by one. It’d be quite the spectacle. I can clear out my schedule a little more, if you think it’s possible.”

Shino flushed. He’d probably spent the entire evening cajoling Zarc to compromise his schedule for the arena; any appearance by Zarc was a massive sell-out event, and here he was offering his time to the idea of an exhibition that pitted him against the four other Elites. If Shino agreed, he’d risk the careers and therefore the continued appearances of all but one of his major revenue streams; but the opportunity to hold more tournaments to seat new Elites would arise. A new generation led by the winner of this Exhibition.

When Shino seemed too conflicted to answer, Zarc said, “I’ll make the necessary arrangements. I suggest you all do the same.” 

The threat in his voice on “the necessary arrangements” made my stomach turn cold. Rugen, however, seemed satisfied.

“I’m much more fit to be King than you, anyway,” he said, “I entertain on and off the stage. Never a dull night. Where have _you_ been at half the parties?” 

I thought of Zarc’s strangely huge and conspicuously empty tower home, as Zarc himself cast a sideways glance at Rugen without answering. 

“Besides,” Rugen put both of his arms around his ladies’ shoulders and cocked his head smugly at Zarc, as though Zarc should be impressed and jealous of him for being covered in women, “What kind of guy wears a flower and doesn’t even have a girl with him?”

Zarc met this comment with another glance, lifting his chin in that characteristically haughty way that Kari drooled over in all his magazine spreads, but still said nothing. I looked at him again, trying to register what Rugen was talking about. Perhaps through my tipsy haze, or from Diesel’s cigar smoke, or my general tense distraction from being seated among all these Elites, I had not noticed before. Pinned to Zarc’s black sport coat was a boutonniere, made from two roses: one deep red, the other pink. The same roses that were on my table, my reserved table, the only table with roses of that color. The colors of my hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's way too much champagne, honey.
> 
> Chapter 3: Lamplight


	3. Lamplight

> _It makes me feel nervous,_
> 
> _You have that look in your eye._
> 
> _Oh, what takes over?_
> 
> _ What is it that holds you tight? _
> 
> \- BANNERS, "Half Light"

* * *

  
My stomach lurched. I sprang to my feet so quickly that my half-finished fifth—or sixth?—glass of champagne tumbled off my side table and shattered on the carpet. Everyone stared at me, and I cast around for an excuse. My head was swimming.  
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I—I need to use the ladies’ room.”

I turned on the spot and started out the double doors I’d come in. A voice behind me called, “Hon?” and I turned, the room spinning under my feet. “It’s that way.” One of Rugen’s girlfriends was pointing to the hallway off the opposite side of the room. I crossed as quickly as I could, stumbling slightly in my heels as I went, and I heard her cackle behind me.

I pounded through the door of the ladies restroom. Thank god, there was a powder room with a sink at the vanity. I threw my purse down on the counter and vomited into the sink. 

Zarc had invited me. 

I ran the tap, and dropped onto the velvet pouf at the vanity, laying my forehead against the cool marble. My head was swimming. The room was spinning. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Zarc had arranged my entire evening. Every detail, probably; insisting I be added to the VIP list, dinner service, champagne, roses. His outburst about the ice in his drink was probably all some theatrical distraction to get Diesel and Rugen to stop ridiculing me. Maybe Shino was in on it. He had to be; as the party’s host, Zarc would have demanded he send out my invitation. Shino had probably invited me into the Blackrose Lounge to impress Zarc by acting interested in me and my work. What a toy I was.

I let myself lie there, slumped on the overstuffed pouf with my face on the counter for another several minutes, unsure as to whether I’d throw up again if I tried to stand. What did he even want with me? To get me drunk…well, he’d succeeded at that, but I was not leaving the restroom anytime soon and he’d missed his chance to try anything on me. Not that he’d seemed interested in taking a chance at all; he’d ignored me the entire evening. Elaborately arranged my evening and ignored me. 

“Miss Akaba?”

I jerked my head up, and immediately felt dizzy. It was my waitress from before, who had served my drinks and my dinner at my table, holding a cup of tea and a glass of ice water in either hand. She placed them silently on the counter beside me, and turned to leave, when I yelled in a strangled voice, “Did he hire you?”

She turned, and met my watery gaze as though considering whether to answer. 

“Did Zarc pay you to take care of me?” I repeated, less forcefully.

With a slight smile, she said, “Yes, Miss.”

“Why?”

She blinked, looking slightly confused. “He wanted to ensure that you would have a nice evening.”

Behind her, the restroom door banged open and admitted both of Rugen’s golden-skinned girlfriends, and the waitress took her leave. The ladies spent some time in the stalls, gossiping in nasal voices about some inane subject I couldn’t follow; and continued at the sinks, probably fixing their makeup. I was taking up the vanity, after all. They walked back past me, and I heard one of them snidely comment, “Damn, hon, you’re trashed,” before leaving me alone again and laughing out in the alcove, “Why was she invited?”

I held the teacup between my hands. The ginger aroma was soothing. Those women, Rugen’s girlfriends—or escorts?—everyone thought of them as nothing. They were his accessories, the symbols of his ostentatious indulgence, eating sugar out of his hands like horses. They probably attended plenty of parties like this one, but only as his trophies, not as anyone whose work or opinions were ever respected or sought after. I’d spent the evening being treated like a savvy and valuable business asset, flattered for my intelligence and my work. Plied with champagne, because—now that I thought about it—I’d let slip to Zarc that I liked it. If he’d wanted a woman for an arm accessory, he could have found himself one easily, prettier than me and far more vapid and compliant. Instead, he had paid that waitress—maybe the doorman too, or even the entire event staff—to make sure I had a nice time without subjecting me to his presence and making me look like a brainless object hanging from his elbow. And really, I _had_ had a nice time—up until now, when I was vomiting in the ladies’ room in drunken shock, but the business cards in my purse were still valuable. Rugen’s girlfriends probably received gifts of fancy jewelry and sparkly dresses, rhinestone manicures and fine handbags, but I got a stack of connections that could boost my career and bring in funding for my father’s and my research. 

A gentle chime issued from my purse. The DDC?

I unsnapped my purse in confusion and fished the device out. Perhaps my father was checking in, even though he was usually absorbed in his work in his home office at this hour. But no, a message had appeared on the screen from an unknown disk code.

_Meet me in the lobby after everyone else is gone._

I stared at it, my dizzy head only barely understanding the message before a second message followed it:

_P. S. You shouldn’t pass your personal device around. Someone could steal your contact information._

And finally, a third message:

_-Z._

I dropped the DDC on the carpet and put my head down on the counter again. Meet him in the lobby? I had every intention of spending the rest of the evening in this restroom and then sneaking out a side door to hail a taxi. I should have brought a change of shoes.

I sat up, and looked at myself in the mirror. Even through my watering eyes, I still looked okay; my makeup was holding up, thank goodness for the expensive kind. Maybe no one would suspect that I’d just thrown up. I drank the tea, and instantly started to feel better; still jittery, but it settled my stomach.

I looked down at his messages on the DDC. I wasn’t going to respond, but…

It would be rude not to at least cordially thank him. He had a lot of power and snubbing him could cause trouble for our department, more shame for my poor, undeserving father. I’d stood in Zarc’s own home and told him how much I hated him and his cruel entertainment, but he had still seen fit to invite me to this exclusive party and ensure that I was treated with respect. It didn’t make any sense. If anything, I ought to ask why. 

What if I did go and meet him? 

The party ought to be winding down now, but I stayed in the restroom for another half an hour, finishing the tea and the water until my head was clearer and the taste of bile had washed out of my mouth. I picked the DDC up off the floor and stood up. Even in my insensible shoes I felt I was relatively stable to walk again, and began pacing around the powder room and going over my plan. I could sneak out the back door of the lounge and bypass the ballroom, and then ask for a taxi as soon as I got to the lobby. If Zarc couldn’t meet me before the car arrived…well. That would be a shame. I could message him my curt thanks as I rode home.

I pushed the restroom door open and peeked out. The alcove hallway was empty, and I couldn’t hear any talking from the lounge, so I crept out and looked into the main room. Completely deserted. How long _had_ I been in the restroom? Everyone was already gone from the lounge? Even outside in the hallway it was quiet, although the low hum of voices and clinking of glasses could still be heard issuing out of the ballroom. Good, so the party wasn’t completely over yet. In relief I hurried, as quickly as I dared, along the slick marble floor in my high-heeled shoes, back toward the elevator that I had arrived in. The doorman who had led me in was still there at the ballroom entrance, and he nodded at me as I passed by. I attempted a shaky smile.

I took the elevator alone, staring up at the mirrored ceiling at my own pale face. All I had to do was ask for a taxi. Then I could escape politely without upsetting Zarc.

But the lobby was completely empty. No hotel attendants, no receptionist, no concierge at the desk. I turned, thinking I must have to hunt someone down in the hall.  
“I thought you might have run away.”

He was there. Zarc. Still wearing his black sport coat with the rose boutonniere over a dark dress shirt, he gave an impression of feral elegance as he stood casually with his hands in his pockets.

Either I had completely missed him in my fixation to ask for a taxi, or he had intentionally crept behind me. He’d done the same at his home, waited until I had my back turned and caught me off-guard—well, I had dropped by unannounced, but he had seen me coming and allowed me in. Again, his face held none of the complacent smirk he had worn in the Lounge for the benefit of his lesser peers; he looked passive and thoughtful, even a tiny bit apprehensive. I stared at him, trying to rearrange my strategy, to stammer a quick and polite thanks and come up with an excuse to leave, but—

“Take a walk with me?”

It wasn’t a demand. I could still refuse, say I’d called for a taxi and it would be here soon and then lock myself in the restroom again. But a certain curiosity was starting up within me—that same feeling that, on the night when I’d broken into his home to give him a piece of my mind, had led me into admitting our strange shared secret. There was more to it than just to thank him. I had questions.

I nodded silently, and he walked to my side while I avoided eye contact with him. He offered me his arm, but I wordlessly crossed my hands over my purse, and he dropped it without a word.

The hotel had a fine and spacious outdoor garden, with walkways enclosed by lamplit trellises. There were a few couples here, sharing their drinks and desserts away from the noise of the ballroom to wind down the evening as soft strains of cello music floated over from a gazebo on the far side of the garden. I thought I heard Rugen’s raucous laughter from a far table, and Zarc gently took my elbow and quickly pulled me into one of the trellised walkways so as not to be spotted.

“What, you don’t want to be the center of attention right now?” I said, unable to keep the mockery out of my voice.

He didn’t turn his head toward me, but said simply, “No.”

I was still confused. The Elites treated women like status objects; showed them off, staged “accidental” scandals to stay hot in the tabloids, keep themselves in the center of attention. Rugen would have a new set of girlfriends next month, sparking a wake of accusations and shocking news plastered all over the trashy magazines at convenience stores. Zarc had stayed away from me for most of the party, and even now it seemed he didn’t want to be seen with me. We walked some yards through the trellises; gradually the tinkling of tableware and murmur of the voices in the garden faded into quietude. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he seemed lost in thought, disengaged. 

I still had questions, and perhaps because the alcohol still in my system made me feel brave, I said, “I suppose I ought to thank you.”

He looked around at me in surprise as though he’d forgotten I was there. “Why?”

“For this evening,” I continued, “You arranged my invitation.”

“This was my thanks to you,” he replied.

I blinked. “For what?”

“An engaging conversation the other day.” He looked upward at the lamps along the top of the trellis, and then smiled at me. It was unthreatening and genuine, completely different from the bared fangs he’d flashed at his Elitist peers in the lounge, before it dropped into an uncharacteristically somber expression. “And I…I’m sorry if I scared you.”

His sincerity took me aback. I couldn’t think of any witty retort, so I just said, “Thank you for apologizing.”

“I was just surprised. I, ah,” he absentmindedly put his hand over his breast pocket, “Have never met anyone…anyone else like _me_ before.”

He stopped walking and turned to face me. He really did look a little apprehensive. Long ago, I’d been on dates with boys before and they’d looked the same, the same mixture of hopefulness and nerves and…vulnerability, unsure how much of their hearts to bare.

“I wanted another opportunity to talk to you. But I got the impression the other night that if I invited you personally, you’d refuse.”

Well that was true. I would not have accepted an invitation to be the female accessory of the man who had ruined my father’s life. Ruined my life. Or anyone who held onto my wrist in an elevator and refused to let me leave before I answered his question.

“What do you mean, anyone else like you?” I said, although I knew what this was about. I didn’t love the idea that I had something special in common with Supreme King Zarc, but he, too, was the only other person I’d met that could so deeply understand his monsters.

His apprehensive face flashed a bit of impatience, as though he could tell I was playing dumb on purpose.“I’ve been able to hear them since I was young,” he went on. “Whenever I’d play, it was like they were helping me. They told me their secrets. They taught me how to duel.” He peered into my face intently, trying to see if I believed him. 

I felt strange to even be talking to him about this. For the past three years I’d watched him shatter bones to tumultuous approval, despised everything about him and blamed him for the drastic change he’d caused to my own life. Father had pulled me out of the Pro League because he was afraid I’d get injured, and I’d taken the job in Development while bitterly watching this man rise to the title of Champion with a wake of blood and cruelty and vicious admirers. And now here he was in front of me, confessing a raw secret to me in a trellis-covered lamplit pathway, wearing a boutonniere that matched my hair.

“My father taught me how to duel,” I said slowly, turning to continue walking so I didn’t have to look directly at him, “He always said if I believed hard enough, the monsters would help me. After some time I started to—well, it was really more like a feeling. I could tell when a monster was happy, when they’d be pleased they’d won a turn, or when they’d be regretful that they couldn’t do more if they lost. They love to play the game. It’s why they exist. Over time the feelings got stronger, I could sense more specific ones, I began to discern their personalities. Certain ones calling out, asking me to trust them.”

“And your father decided to develop Real SolidVision just to enhance the game?” Zarc concluded, “For you?”

“For everyone,” I replied, smiling at the memory of my father happily reporting the progress he’d made on his project every evening over dinner when I would come home from school. “I remember the first time he brought me to his lab—well, I work there now—and he had this projection plane and he asked me to choose a monster, and then suddenly there she was, perfectly solid. She held my hand, and I could feel her joy at finally getting to meet me…” I looked up at the glowing lamps along the top of the trellis as we walked, shining like my lovely monster had shone for me on that day. “And I just felt that her soul really was alive. I told my father so, and he just laughed and said, ‘Yes, they seem so lifelike, don’t they?’ But of course he didn’t really believe that the monsters have souls; he doesn’t believe in magic. He’s an engineer, after all. He just loved the game, and loved sharing it with me, and—” I stopped walking and turned around, realizing that Zarc had stopped along the path a few seconds ago.

“Magic?”

He was staring at me as though he’d never even heard the word before, bewildered.

“Well, yes,” I said, almost laughing, “They’re cards; it’s a game. If they have souls it’s because the game is magical. Don’t you think?”

He walked toward me, closing the gap between us, with his hands shoved back in his pockets. He stopped right beside me. A little too close. Why was my heart pounding like this, if I was no longer afraid?

“I don’t believe in magic.” He fixed his gaze on me, but I didn’t step back or look away. “They’re real. They chose me. They’re a part of me.” I could hear the fervor rise in his voice, and maybe he heard it too. He turned away and kept walking, as though to cool his head, and I followed beside him, waiting for him to go on. I didn’t want to run away anymore. He intrigued me. 

After recollecting his thoughts he continued, “I don’t even remember a time when they weren’t with me.” His hand was on his breast pocket again. “They started out as quiet little voices, but the more I listened the louder they spoke, inviting me to play alongside them. They want to be with me, always. I want to make them happy, I want them to live. When the game was just in the hologram stage I could feel their presence and hear their voices, but it was distant, like they were still separated from me through a wall. The application of Real SolidVision to the game was…When I finally made it into the Pro League and I could feel the ground shudder beneath their feet and see their breath in the air and their voices were clear and resonant, it was like…it was like I was…”

“Home?”

This time it was I who stopped walking, stepping in front of him to peer into his face with curiosity and resolution. Here was a man who had spent his whole life listening to his monsters, dancing alongside them in the arena. Of course it was expected for a professional duelist to immerse himself in the game, but the way he spoke about his monsters was as if they were his family. It was as though he was seeking comfort in me, the only other person in the world who knew what it was like to understand the mysterious souls of these creatures.

He raised the hand that was over his pocket to brush my hair away from my face, holding my cheek, and he smiled in relief. “I knew you’d believe me.”

I lost track of what happened at that moment. He kissed me— _he kissed me?—_ and suddenly I was wrapped up in his arms. It had been so long since I’d kissed anyone, and he was so earnest in the way he held me and kissed me…There was a delicate scent that lingered around him, a sort of musk with a smooth, warm finish; subtle and entrancing. The world was spinning around me, gravity wasn’t working properly, and I had to hold onto him so I wouldn’t fall over or fly away. Where was I? What had we even been talking about…?

A muffled, high-pitched shriek issued out from somewhere in the garden. I broke away with a compulsive step backward—the heel of my stupid shoe snagged in a crack between the pathway’s flagstones—and I was halfway to the ground before he caught me deftly. My brain took an extra second to catch up with what had happened, and why the arm under my back and the shoulders I was suddenly holding onto were all so exceptionally firm, before he lifted me back up and set me carefully on my unsteady feet. I stared at him for a long moment; he was still holding my upper arms to keep my balance, until I blinked.

Zarc cleared his throat and stepped back, letting his hands slip away from me, and I let go of his shoulders as the realization of what had just happened crept in through the back of my inebriated brain. My stomach twisted; I thought I might throw up again. Oh god. I’d had too much to drink and I’d kissed the worst person in the world. The person who ingratiated the crowd to my father’s chagrin with his decadent displays of violence. The person who had taken everything I’d worked so hard for away from me. Somehow the champagne and his soft voice and his lovely smell and his…his mysteriously gentle, disarming presence had overpowered my judgement. Even he looked sheepish, shoving his hands ruefully back into his pockets, as though this hadn’t been his plan either.

“I—” I choked, trying to keep my voice steady, “I should go home.”

He looked regretful. “Alright.”

I turned to leave, took a few steps, and he caught me suddenly by the hand.

“Ray,” he said, and I realized it was the first time I’d heard him say my name all evening, “I—I want to invest in your project. In the DDC.”

“The DDC?” I said, taken aback, “It’s just a pet project. It’s just a communicator that stores data from—”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “The part that can stabilize the monster projection. That little lag when the Field refreshes, it—it pinches.”

I blinked. He was still holding my hand. “It…pinches?”

“The monsters,” he said, “When they flicker out for that second, it pinches. They don’t like it, it hurts them. Please,” he squeezed my hand a bit, “I’d like your department to be able to focus on that project. I’ll put a call in on Monday to make a contribution.”

“Yes, alright,” I gently pulled my hand away, but still added, “Thank you. And for this evening, Zarc.” I met his eyes again, holding his gaze for a little longer than I intended, until I turned and began walking away again.

“Yuusha.”

I turned around again. “What?”

“My name is Yuusha,” he said quietly, looking up at the lamps again, and then back down at me. “It’s what _they_ call me. I figured you should, too.”

Completely lost for words, I nodded and repeated, “Yuusha.” It was what _they_ called him? His dragons called him by his real name?

He smiled again, and then turned around and made his way slowly in the opposite direction.

Back out of the trellised pathway, back into the lobby which was, mercifully, populated with its usual staff again. The concierge looked up when I arrived, and said with a kind smile, “The car for you, miss?”

“Yes, please,” I said. I suddenly realized how badly my feet hurt from these awful shoes.

She dialed an extension on her phone and said into the line, “The car for Miss Akaba, please.”

Of course it wasn’t a taxi. Of course there was a car dedicated just for me. The concierge refused my tip, just as the rest of the hotel attendants had, and a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled into the porte-cochère within a minute, the driver stepping out to open the rear door for me without making eye contact. The car was inconspicuous on the outside but had a deeply luxurious interior, the kind of vehicle I was sure Danny’s company would employ for chauffeuring their Elite clients.

The driver would not accept any ride fare or tip either, and as I sat on my way home, watching the street lamps fly by through the tinted glass, I thought that this must have been the strangest date I’d ever been on. 

But it was a good kiss. A really, really good kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.
> 
> Chapter 4: Favors
> 
> \--
> 
> 2017/8/11: Now that a sufficient chunk of this story has been posted, I will be adding new chapters weekly. Your thoughts, comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	4. Favors

I took my lunch in the breakroom again on Monday, tired of the stuffy ventilation in the lab and loath to sit at my desk any longer. I had found a new salad recipe and prepared it yesterday, lost in thought as I flicked through the pages of this month’s _Balance_ magazine (“Home and Office Life for the Career Woman”). 

Kari suddenly dropped into the seat next to me and plunked her elbow on the table, her face shining with intense curiosity. “ _How was it_?”

“I think I’ll put more radishes in,” I said, “I like them with this dressing.”

“No no no no no no no,” Kari shoved my lunch away from me. I stared at her. She was flushed with excitement, like she always looked when someone had juicy gossip to share with her. “I mean… _you know_. After the party.”

“Oh, that,” I dropped my chin onto my hand. “I felt pretty sick yesterday morning, and then I spent about an hour in the bath, and finally felt okay to do the shopping later in the afternoon.”

Kari huffed. I guessed I was being difficult. “Look, Ray, I know you’re not one to kiss and tell but I am _dying_ to know.”

“Know what?” I said, but my mouth went dry at her words “kiss and tell.” Could she possibly…?

“You know…” Kari looked over her shoulder to make sure we were alone. “You and—” she cupped her hands around her mouth and formed the word _Zarc_.

I dropped my fork onto the table and plunged my face into my hands. “Oh my god!” I groaned, and then grabbed Kari, vice-like, by the wrist, and hissed, “ _You cannot tell anyone_! How did you even _know_!?”

“Danny and I took a walk to get some fresh air after the party,” she said in a coy tone, “along those enclosed paths in the gardens, and we ran into you two when you were—” she cleared her throat and winked, “— _you know_.”

I thought back to the shrieking noise that had broken Zarc and me apart the other night. “That was you?”

“When I realized it was you I couldn’t help it,” Kari giggled. Danny pulled me back around the corner right away, so I guess you didn’t see me.”

“Don’t let Danny tell anyone either,” I said, picking up my fork and pointing it at her nose like a spear, “I will—just— _don’t you dare_!”

“But what was it _like_?” she pressed, slapping the table with her open palm impatiently. “He had a really nice suite, right? Was it _amazing_?”

“I—” I could feel the heat rising in my face now, “I didn’t go up to his hotel room, if that’s what you’re saying.”

Kari pouted. “You can be honest with me. I won’t tell, I promise.”

“Nothing happened,” I insisted, “I left right after that. I went home.”

“Really?”

“ _Yes._ ”

Kari sighed and flopped back against the chair. “I know you’re one of the smartest technicians in this department, but you’re really dumb.”

“Excuse me?”

“You should have seen the two of you,” she elaborated, looking suddenly wistful, “He was _really_ into you. He was wrapped up around you like he wanted you _so_ bad. I don’t even understand how you got that far, much less totally blew him off after that.”

I felt my face burn with embarrassment. I’d had a hard time recalling what even happened during my kiss with Zarc, but Kari was describing it like some deeply passionate romance scene and not the weird, confusing moment I was remembering.

“We were both kind of drunk,” I said, “It was a mistake.”

“A _mistake_?” she rolled her eyes, “Ray, to some girls the idea of drunk-kissing the biggest celebrity in the entire professional dueling sphere is better than marrying the love of their life.”

“Are you and Danny having problems?”

“Ray, I really like Danny and we’re really happy together, but if I got a chance to spend the night with Zarc I’d dump Danny in a heartbeat. And he’d understand.”

“True love.”

Kari ignored this, and kept prying. “Come on, Ray, I mean how long has it been since you even went on a date?”

I tried to think back. “We went to that nightclub that one time.”

“That was two years ago!” She rolled her eyes dramatically in an overdone pantomime of fainting. “And it doesn’t count as a date unless you went home with someone. You haven’t gotten _anything_ since then?”

“It’s none of your business.” I stared at the table. Kari was bringing up a lot of old feelings I had long since suppressed. She’d never understand how worthless I felt after I had to quit dueling, how unfulfilling everything else felt. It was just bad timing that she and Danny had witnessed my moment of weakness, that was all. Just a stupid, confused, drunk moment. Just the first time in a long while that I’d felt pretty, or interesting, or valuable, and it was all because of…

I realized I was squeezing the handle of my salad fork so tightly that it was digging a mark into the palm of my hand. I flung it down on the table. 

“And you’re telling me after that you didn’t just _go for it_?” Kari was saying, “I bet the Champion’s suite is _super_ luxurious. You could have at least gotten him to buy you a bunch of expensive stuff.”

“I don’t want expensive stuff, and I have standards,” I said, swigging my bottled water and dragging my salad back across the table toward me, “And they don’t involve the man that turned dueling into a blood sport. He’s awful.”

“Right,” Kari said dubiously, “Didn’t look like you thought he was so _awful_ the other night, though…” she let her tone trail off, dripping with implication. “I know I told you to hook up with a rich guy but _oh my god._ I mean,” she shifted in her chair to move closer to me, “How did you even pull that off? I didn’t see him all evening. I didn’t even know he was at that party, and somehow you got him wrapped around your finger? No offense, Ray, I think you’re a catch, but that’s _crazy_.”

“I don’t know,” I groaned, trying to think back through the evening and weave together a reasonable story, “The event host invited all the VIPs into the back room to chat some more, and he and a bunch of other Elites were there, and…we just started talking.” I decided to skip the part where I panicked and vomited in the women’s restroom in a drunken stupor. “And after that we went for a walk.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Nothing,” I said, and when Kari gave me a withering look, I amended, “Dueling.”

“You talked about work, didn’t you,” She leaned back in her chair and groaned at the ceiling. “You’re insufferable. This is why none of your boyfriends ever stuck around.”

“Thanks,” I said, picking my fork back up and stabbing into my salad. She wasn’t wrong.

“Well anyway,” she said in a disappointed huff, “I thought I’d give you this in case you two didn’t _talk_ enough.” She slapped a different magazine on top of my open _Balance_ ; it was an issue of _Duelist_ that I’d seen on the racks awhile ago and stubbornly refused to read. The cover featured a full-body photo of Zarc, in dramatic lighting, looking handsome and intimidating in his classic battle-worn dueling gear. The photo was probably heavily doctored to enhance his eyes and his strong jawline. I scoffed.

“This is from a year ago,” I said, “Why do you still have this?”

Kari shrugged and ignored the question. “They got an exclusive interview about his life and early career, all that stuff. Thought maybe you’d want to read through it to get to know him better.”

“I’m not going to see him again,” I said firmly.

“Whatever,” Kari said, standing up but leaving the magazine with me, “If you feel like admitting something else, you know where to find me. And turn in your time card later today,” she added. She shuffled back to her desk, looking thoroughly put out at the lack of juicy gossip I had provided her. 

I finished my salad and the _Balance_ article I had been interested in (“Reorganize Your Workspace”) and glanced at the _Duelist_ issue Kari had left. I’d dropped my subscription three years ago after they’d begun to print nothing but articles about Zarc and his imitators and turned into a sycophantic fan rag instead of the informative journal it used to be. I ruefully folded it inside my own magazine so no one would see me carrying it, and returned to my cubicle in the lab. 

No one was around. Father had been called in for a routine budget meeting with the board of directors, and the other technicians had gone offsite for lunch as a loud, annoying group. Furtively still, I laid out the _Balance_ magazine on my desk, and flipped it open to reveal the _Duelist_ issue again. I tried to avoid looking at the cover photo of Zarc, instead just registering that the article entitled “The Life of the Supreme King: Zarc’s Early Years” started on page seventeen.

I hated myself for doing it, but flicked over to the article anyway. I was met instantly with another photo of Zarc, this time a closeup from the same photoset, sitting in a leather armchair and looking thoughtfully away from the camera so the accent lighting glanced off of the outline of his lips. I skimmed the article.

Left at the hospital as an infant by a single mother who seemed far too young to raise a child and declined to leave any information about herself or the father. Surrendered to the city. Lived in a variety of foster homes, never stayed in any of them for more than a year. Constantly changed schools. Took to the underground dueling scene to earn money to pay for a tiny apartment at the edge of town; was scouted by an agent that saw his potential. Managed to build a high enough win ratio in legitimate tournaments to be accepted into the professional league, and “the rest is history.”

Yes, the part where Zarc had ordered a decisive attack against his opponent’s monster, and the impact had flung the other creature right into its master, shattering the bones in the man’s shoulder and upper arm. The article worded this incident as “an enthralling turning point in the history of interactive dueling!” Yes, that really changed everything. It was an accident; but the crowd’s roaring approval was enough to incite the same violence from other duelists, and Zarc himself stood as the icon of this newly-evolved form of performative dueling: the Real Fights.

The article went on to describe, with gushing fascination, the finesse that Zarc displayed in his dueling; other duelists like Diesel would win by default after incapacitating their opponents before the game was really over. If an opponent’s injuries prevented him from taking his draw, or if he fainted from blood loss, it would be considered a forfeit and the standing duelist would win. Diesel obviously had a high win rate due to his strategy. Rugen the Crippler’s high fan rating was due to the fact that he, as his epithet implied, would aim his attacks to break the bones in his opponent’s hips or legs so they would have to continue the game from a prostrate position on the ground, groveling. Many opponents would still faint from the pain without even finishing a turn. Zarc, however, was known for always keeping his opponents right on the edge of their physical capacity until he had decisively won the duel, and then ending it with enrapturing brutality. The greatest entertainment. Dangling their well-being before them, giving them a chance to believe they could win, and then ending it with a crushing final blow.

I slapped the magazine shut, flipped it over so I wouldn’t have to look at Zarc’s handsomely-photographed face, and put my head down on my desk. What a disgusting person. A disgusting person that had treated me to a lovely party and kissed me after a strange and genuine conversation about our shared secret. The magazine article had mentioned nothing about Zarc’s mysterious ability to hear his monsters’ voices, nor anything even about the connection to them that he had confessed to me. Nothing about the name Yuusha.

I pulled my arms down and set my chin on them. His mother, probably just a scared teenager, had abandoned him as a baby; no father to find, kicked around the foster system and transferring schools year after year. He’d never had a family, probably not even a friend if he’d never stayed in any school long enough. No real human connections. All he ever had were his monsters, whispering to him and guiding him, sharing their feelings with him. But he had reached out to me, sought out my company, in the hope that I might understand him.

_Home._

He was still dangerous. He was still violent and cruel. But…

“RAAAAAAAY!”

Kari’s shriek shook me out of my reverie even as she burst the lab door open and clung to the doorframe.

“What on earth now?” I sat up straight to lean around my cubicle wall at her.

“Um, can you come look at something right now?” she squeaked, her glasses slightly askew.

Bemused, I followed her back to her desk, bringing the copy of _Duelist_ to give back to her. She dropped into her chair and clicked through her folders frantically.

“You talked to a bunch of potential investors at that party, right?” she was saying, “Because, um, your Special Projects account…kind of blew up.”

“Special Projects?” I said. I suddenly remembered, for the first time after he had mentioned it, that Zarc had offered to invest in the DDC project. “Wait, what do you mean ‘blew up?’”

“Well,” Kari said, slightly breathless and clutching her chest, “It—it’s normal to get investor contributions, but usually they schedule a meeting first and then the money shows up after a bunch of paperwork and all that jazz in a few days. But this just _appeared_ , timestamped as of nine o’clock this morning, and it…” she dropped her voice to a squeaky whisper. “ _It’s a lot of money!_ ”

She opened the budget accounts tab, and highlighted a line labeled “Investor Contributions.”

I gasped, and instinctively backed away as though that large of a number would burn me if I got too close.

“Ray,” Kari adjusted her glasses as though her she was misreading the account figure. “With this amount you could—you could hire a bunch more engineers, and basically build an entirely new department dedicated to Special Projects separately from the Research Department’s budget.” She looked back at me over her shoulder. “What on earth kind of investor did you…” her eyes fell on the _Duelist_ magazine I still held in my hand, and they widened until they were practically popping out of her head. “ _No way_!”

I didn’t have any way to get around this one. I threw the magazine face-down on her desk. “He…he did say he was interested in investing in the DDC.”

“The DDC? Isn’t that just a little remote communicator thing for duel disks? That kind of thing doesn’t have any value to him. Why does he care about that _this much_?” She pointed emphatically at the incredible account figure, and then seemed to come to a realization. She dropped her hand on the desk. “You have him on the hook.”

“What? No!” I protested, “He just—”

“Yes, yes you do! You totally have him on the hook! _God_ , when I said you should ask him to buy you expensive stuff I meant jewelry or something.”

“I didn’t ask him for anything,” I pressed back, “He just said he’d like to invest and he’d make a call, we didn’t talk about numbers.”

Kari sighed and closed her eyes, as though picturing a beautiful scene. “Imagine how much more he might have donated if you really had, you know, gone up with him and let him—”

“ _Oh my god, shut up, Kari_!”

She smirked. “Whatever, Ray. Did he tell you he wanted to invest before or after your make-out session?”

“We didn’t _make out_ ,” I insisted, and, thinking that the truth would prove Kari’s point, lied:“It was before.”

“So you kissed him as a thank-you?” she giggled, “If any of those other gross old business guys ever make contributions, will you kiss them too? It’s only fair.”

“Shut up, Kari,” I said again. Every angle of this made me look bad, either like I entertained the affection of rich men to win investments for my personal enterprises, or like I had played hard-to-get with a celebrity and he was determined to get my attention any way he could. Well, maybe the latter was a little bit true, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Kari.

“Does the Professor even know? He’ll have to completely overhaul the labor in the department.”

“My father just went in for a budget meeting,” I said, and then— “Oh my god.”

Right on cue, Kari’s desk phone rang and she snatched it before I could. “Yes, this is Kari with the Research and Development Department.” She raised her eyebrows at me as the caller spoke. “Yes, Mr. Director, she’s back from lunch. I’ll send her in right away.” She hung up, and stared at me. “Board of Directors wants you in their budget meeting right now.”

~~~

I stood outside the boardroom for an extra minute, going over my story in my head. I couldn’t make it look like I had earned the company so much money through any unethical means or promises, or that Zarc’s special interest in my project came from a secret he had told me in confidence, or after an intoxicated kiss. He had a special interest in the game, that was all. Wanted to build a new department to enhance the game’s interactive features. That made sense, right? Certainly not to sway my affections toward him personally. Certainly not.

But my hands were starting to sweat as I stood in the hall, adrenaline building up in my ears. Zarc could get me fired. He and his stupid impulses to get my attention could get me fired and then he’d have ruined my life twice. All it would take was one comment from any of the Stardust Hotel staff, or Shino, or Kari or Danny, to give away that Zarc had some personal favors on strings attached to the huge amount of money he’d dropped into my lap. Perhaps the board of directors had already inquired to Shino and realized that Zarc had demanded my invitation to his party, maybe even considered me to be his date. I was definitely about to get fired.

It was best to get it over with.

I pushed open the door. All ten of them were there, the nine board members and my father. I was dressed in my usual work clothes, but felt woefully unprepared for all of them to be staring directly at me as I entered.

Father was looking curiously at me, but he didn’t quite look angry. It was a good sign. There was no chair available for me, so I stood awkwardly behind my father with my heart pounding in my throat, waiting for them to start firing questions at me.

“Miss Akaba,” the Chairman began, “This morning our company received a large sum of money from an anonymous investor to be directed at the Special Projects division of the Research and Development Department led by your father.”

I didn’t know if it was appropriate to admit that I knew this information already, so I just said, “Oh.” 

An anonymous investor. So, Zarc was covering his tracks. The investment could have come from any one of those business cards I’d received. I was safe.

“Have you recently spoken to any potential investors about your current Special Projects activities?”

The truth was safer than lying. “Yes,” I said. “On Saturday night I attended the Sponsorship Gala hosted by the owners of the arena, as the plus-one of a friend.” This wasn’t entirely untrue, except the part where the “friend” was Zarc himself, whom I certainly didn’t consider a friend. “A few of the investors found out where I worked, and a variety of them spoke to me about partnering with their companies on research projects. I showed a small group of them a non-classified project that the Professor and I have been working on out of the Special Projects budget, in addition to our usual activities.”

“Which non-classified project is that?” the Chairman asked.

“We call it the Duel Disk Communicator.” I pulled the little device out of my pocket and, leaning over my father’s shoulder, placed it on the table as I had the other night in the Blackrose Lounge to show the Elites.

“What is the purpose of this device?”

“It’s a compact communication device that remotely stores data from a paired duel disk,” my father explained, glancing at me quizzically. “Something to carry instead of their larger disk, if they want to keep their information with them without the clunky disk itself.”

“Moreover,” I added, answering my father’s unanswered question, “The Professor and I have been using this technology to test the capabilities of stabilizing Real SolidVision in a portable device, without full reliance on the main projection unit. I believe this is something that some of the investors I spoke to might have an interest in. Dividing the power output between the main machine would lower the power cost for the arena and make the game run more smoothly.”

I waited, hoping that my explanation was making sense. The board of directors didn’t have a strong grasp on the science of the Real SolidVision system, after all; they ran the company and we developed the machine. But the Chairman of the Board nodded behind his glasses, so at least he understood my story. 

“We have received contributions from this same anonymous account in the past,” The Chairman explained, “They are sporadic, but usually as generous as contributions from other parties. But this amount,” he glanced down at his papers, probably listing the anonymous account’s investment history, “Is far, far more than we’ve ever received from any investor. And this time it came with a phone call, insisting that this investment be directed toward your sub-department specifically. He seemed confident that you, Miss Akaba Ray, would know what to do with it.”

“Who is this investor?” My father asked, “Which company?”

The Chairman raised his eyebrows. “If the account wishes to remain anonymous, it’s not in our company’s interest to compromise their generosity by inquiring into their identity. It does seem to be a male individual, though; this is the first time we’ve even received a phone call from him. Miss Akaba,” he took off his glasses and peered sternly at me, “We have no desire to turn this contributor away or question his reasons for offering such a large gift, but in the interest of protecting the company from scandal, we need to know that this investment was not received through the exchange of,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “non-business related favors on the night of that gala.”

Yes, there it was. I was prepared to be hounded about this, the same thing Kari hadimmediately assumed: that I had seduced some corporate liaison or Elite duelist to get funding for my project. Even from behind him I could practically feel my father’s concerned frown; the back of his neck tensed in that way it always did when he was stressed.

“I arrived at the party at seven o’clock,” I stated firmly. “I spoke with a lot of interested parties, a representative from Sundustra, and then Aether Arena officials—Mr. Shino, around nine or ten o’clock. I left around eleven. The hotel concierge called a car for me; she will remember me by name.”

“Professor Akaba, your daughter returned home around that time?”

“Yes,” my father said, “I was in my home office but I heard her return a little past eleven.”

“You can confirm that you did not enter any private accommodations inside the hotel?” the Chairman continued.

“I did not.” Out of pure speculation, I added, “There are probably security cameras on every floor.” It was best not to mention Kari as an alibi. I couldn’t trust her not to spill about my little compromising moment with Zarc.

“If we see fit to investigate further, we will look into the proper channels,” he concluded. “At this time I see no reason to inquire at the hotel, given the information you have provided for us.”

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. No more unethical aspersions for now.

“Of course, an investment of this size will call for a thorough rearrangement of your department’s priorities. Although I have half a mind to move you onto our Investor Relations team.” The Chairman put his glasses back on and smiled.

I managed a smile back, and shook my head. “I’m fine as a technician, thank you.”

“Professor and Miss Akaba, you are both dismissed. Please submit your plans for your department’s reconstruction within a week.”

Father followed me out of the boardroom, and I led the way silently down the hall. We turned a corner, and he caught my arm.

“Ray,” he said, “This is a big change.”

“I suppose so,” I said, looking up at his face. His hairline had started to recede in this past year. “I think we’ll need to hire a lot of engineers and set up a team to take over—”

“Not that,” he said kindly. He took both of my hands in his. “You’ve changed. You were so angry at me for taking you out of the professional dueling sphere, I thought you’d never be happy as a technician. But now look at you, you went to that party just for fun and ended up making our department look appealing to investors. You’re enjoying your job now, aren’t you?”

I wanted to smile. I tried. But instead I put my face on his chest to hide the tears that were starting in my eyes.

“I wished you’d quit,” I said quietly, “When the Real Fights started I really wanted you to quit instead of working on Real SolidVision. You used to be so happy when you were developing it, you’d come home and tell me all about it, but now…” I put my arms around him, “I’ve seen how sad you are. We’re just helping those awful duelists hurt each other and ruin everything. I love dueling, I love being around the monsters, but I just…”

He placed a hand on my head, like he always did when I had been upset as a child. “It’s true that my work on Real SolidVision allowed this chaos to escalate,” he said, “But I believe that young people like you will reshape the future of dueling. You are smart and strong and I’m proud of you.”

I smiled up at him through my watering eyes. “I’m being unprofessional,” I said, “You’re my boss.”

He put his arm around my shoulders as we continued walking back to the lab. “I’m happy here as long as you’re with me,” he said. “I’m selfish. I pulled you out of the professional league because I was afraid of losing you.”

“I know,” I said. “I love you, Father.”

When we reached the lab, my father crossed to his desk to power up the projection machine, and I returned to my desk, thinking I might write up the report from my Field test runs earlier today.

A gentle chime issued from my purse. Another message, from that same unknown disk code as the one I’d received at the party:

_I trust my contribution made it to your department correctly. I was very specific._

I stared down at the message. This left me with no doubts about who our “anonymous investor” was. It really was him. Not wanting to seem too readily available, I waited twenty minutes to reply;

_Yes. The Board of Directors has instructed us to rearrange the labor in the department to focus on the Special Projects, so our work on the DDC will begin as soon as possible. Thank you for your generosity._

Trying to stay professional, yes, that was best. Not to come off too familiar, or too friendly. But, less than a minute later, another chime—

_Can I see you again?_

I waited even longer to reply to this one, hardly paying attention to what I was writing in my report as I quietly panicked. He wanted to see me again? Maybe I really did have him on the hook, just like Kari said. I couldn’t ignore him after he’d been so generous to my department, but spending time alone with him seemed like a terrible idea. Finally, after an hour of fretting and rewriting my distracted report, I messaged back:

_I suspect it will take a few weeks before we’ve made any progress worth showing._

Stay professional. Don’t get personal. Don’t get personal.

_That’s not what I meant._

Oh, of course it wasn’t. Of course he was asking me out. He had made such an effort to avoid being seen with me at the party the other night but here he was, trying to get me to go out for coffee or something with him—as if it wasn’t even a ridiculous thing to ask. So ridiculous! As if someone like him could just go to a coffee shop or a restaurant and not cause a scene. As if someone like him had any business being with someone like me.

But I couldn’t ignore him anymore. After reading and rereading my response to make perfectly certain it was neither openly rude nor too provocative, I sent him:

_The Board of Directors seemed concerned about my ethical behavior with regards to your investment. Please understand._

It wasn’t a lie. And, thankfully, a few moments later:

_I understand._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTICE MEEEEEE
> 
> Chapter 5: Odd-Eyes


	5. Odd-Eyes

Over the next several weeks, my father and I took on the task of dividing the department into two. We hired engineers; some for each department, and appointed project managers to the positions that he and I had originally filled. There was an unused laboratory room on one of the higher floors that we took over for the new project; smaller, but since we didn’t need a Field simulator in both areas, we built a projection plane to test the monsters’ energy readings. It was table-height and served as something like a stage for each monster we tested with the new system.

We built about twelve different prototypes for our new energy module, working our way from miniatures to full-size versions of low-level monsters, and then to more powerful ones. The energy output fizzled on our earlier models; we sought a more efficient power source. The intermediate models yielded proper power output but physically unstable monsters; during our scheduled Field Lab sessions, they would disappear after making an attack even though they ought to remain on the field. The later models, which we were currently in the process of testing, were very promising. Strong, robust monsters and even energy usage, although still limited in projection time. They would yield a monster for about three minutes. But, the closer we got, the happier the monsters seemed. They could not step off the projection plane or else they’d lose the power contributed by the RSV system, but they glowed with joy, singing into my heart at being even closer to our world than ever before. I began adding notes into my reports on how each monster felt while it was being projected, and focused my efforts on the models that made the monsters happier. Each test was more and more successful. It was as though they were guiding me, their emotions leading me toward a perfect model.

Kari got a bigger administrator’s desk on this floor, and I entered one morning to find Danny leaning against her cubicle wall, chatting happily. Kari had a nice vase of fresh flowers on her desk, which I assumed he’d brought. She had confided in me, without my asking, that she and Danny had been through some rough patches in their relationship, but were working through them. He brought her coffee every morning to spend extra time with her before he headed to his office.

“Any weekend plans, you two?” I greeted them cheerfully.

“Kari wants to go to the mall to try on new bathing suits,” Danny said, winking. “So, Ray, seen your boyfriend lately?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes at the intrusive question. “You mean the _random guy_ that I kissed once at a party while I was drunk three months ago and haven’t seen since?”

“You keep saying that,” Kari said, somewhat bitterly, “But some ‘random guy’ sent you these anyway.” She offered me the vase of flowers. Roses, pink and deep red.

“Oh my god,” I groaned, taking the vase out of her hands. They really did smell lovely.

“There’s no card, except the tag with your name,” Kari said, “And—full disclosure—if there was, I would have read it.”

“Thank you, Kari.”

“So?”

I looked over the bouquet at Kari’s expectant face. “So what?”

“Care to admit anything now?” Kari raised an eyebrow. Danny stood up straight to listen in.

“I don’t have anything new to admit,” I said, brushing past them to shoulder my way into the lab, and then called back over my shoulder, “There never was anything to begin with!” 

Behind me I heard Kari say to Danny, “How come you don’t bring me flowers?”

There was no space on my desk for the vase, so I placed it on a filing cabinet. 

“Who are those from?” My father was across the lab room, starting up the RSV unit to begin the day’s first tests.

“There’s no card,” I replied, “Kari just said they were for me.”

“They’re the colors of your hair.”

I smiled. “I guess so.” I pulled out my file drawer of monster cards with their attached report papers. “What are we working on today?”

“We’re beginning level six.”

I thumbed through the file and drew out a ream of blank report templates, and took them back to my father’s desk, where several monitors glowed with various graphs and charts, ready to begin tests. 

This particular prototype system was not meant to sustain the monsters for very long; it was purely meant to hold them on the field long enough for us to register the power stability and chart any irregularities we might find. After every set of levels, we would adjust the system for the next set. By now we had graphed the power output as a parabolic curve; the difference in energy consumption between a level five and a level six monster was much greater than the difference between levels one and two. By this point we had tracked the formula well enough to adjust the power output more or less accurately, but we had to run tests on a wide selection of monsters just to be sure. There were about two hundred in this stack of cards. It was tedious, but once we got out of the test phase we could take the system downstairs to the main RSV projection system and test the effects of Spell and Trap cards.

We worked our way through the stacks of level six monster cards. Each monster would appear on the projection plane, and we would clock the time it would last before it became unstable. My father read out numbers, and I wrote them down, each time making an additional note for myself about the emotions I would perceive from them.

Each monster was different. Some were wildly emotive, others were practically unresponsive. Joy, frustration, confusion, contentment. Some more complex emotions I had a hard time describing in only a few words before the monsters vanished. I began to notice that the monsters that I was able to understand the most clearly were ones that I knew; ones that I had played routinely in the past. It felt like they were reaching out to me, willing me to feel their souls, wanting to be closer to me.

We worked all the way up to lunch, both of us so immersed in the routine that we completely forgot about our mid-morning break. Each monster took three to five minutes until they became unstable with the prototype system, so we had gotten through a little more than sixty monsters by the time we realized we ought to pause.

I took my salad into the breakroom again, thankful for a chance to rest my eyes from the template pages. A soft chime issued from my purse.

_I’d like to come by and see your progress._

It wasn’t an inappropriate request, I reasoned; as our main financial benefactor, Zarc ought to be able to see the results of his investment. I typed back:

_I’m pleased with our current status. I’d be happy to show you._

And then, as an afterthought—

_Thank you for the flowers._

He took only a moment to type back:

_I’ll come by your office at 7:00._

Seven o’clock. After everyone else would have been gone for two hours. Well, I thought again, it wasn’t unreasonable. Zarc needed to maintain his anonymity as our financier, and it would seem far too bold for him to arrive while the rest of the office workers were there. Better to avoid Kari and Danny and their prying eyes.

By the end of the day, Father and I had gotten through a little over half of the monsters in our test stack. We’d have to finish up on Monday, but then we’d be able to move on to even higher levels. Father packed up his briefcase, but I stayed at my desk.

“Are you coming home, darling?”

“I’d like to check a few more monsters,” I said, “Just double-checking those slightly irregular ones. I…I might meet Kari for coffee after her date.”

He wrapped me with a quick one-armed hug, and left. I spent some time alphabetizing the cards we had gone through today, and stacked the reference sheets in the outbox for our admin team to enter the data into the records system. Out of my own desk I pulled a couple level six cards; now that we had raised our energy rate to stabilize them, I’d been looking forward to seeing them projected here.

I laid a card face-up on the module’s light plane. The separate RSV system lit and exerted a gentle hum, and within a moment she had materialized before me. My monster, one I had been playing for years. I could hear her voice the most clearly out of any of them; she had been with me for so long, and had always helped me through tight pinches back when I was still dueling in the professional league. Since I was always using test decks as a technician, I didn’t get to see her like this very often anymore. 

She smiled when she saw me, and I felt her joy warm my heart. I stepped up onto the projection plane beside her. She reached out her hand to me, and I took it. It was warm, and perfectly solid, like she really was alive. I had long since gotten used to the technology that projected solid mass from digital data, but it still felt like magic.

Even as I stood holding her hand, I felt a new emotion begin to mingle with her happiness. Was it confusion?

“What’s wrong?” I whispered, as though she might tell me a secret.

She smiled, and raised her other hand, placing her glowing finger gently on my nose, to indicate that I was the owner of this particular feeling.

“I’m not confused,” I said.

She tapped my nose, insisting. I thought about the bouquet of roses on my filing cabinet, and the short history of messages on my DDC. The lamps in the trellised pathways at the Stardust Hotel. She nodded, confirming these thoughts. There was really no use arguing with her like I did with Kari and Danny; I was confused. Scared, yes, that too. Hesitant. Nervous…but curious, and…excited? She reflected all of these feelings back to me, offering them out to me to inspect and confirm.

“Why can’t I really understand you?” I asked quietly. “He can—he can really hear them like they’re speaking to him. Why isn’t it like that with me?” 

She smiled again, but this time she was sad. She laid her hand on my head, like my father had done when I had cried outside the board room. She let go of my hand, and placed two fingers on my heart, then on her own heart. She shook her head, and I could feel her sadness grow.

“We’re not connected enough?” I said. “But…”

She shook her head again. Had I misunderstood? She raised her hand so that her palm was facing me, as though to indicate a barrier between us. She shook her head, and then suddenly flickered out of sight. 

Well, I had ignored the energy output on the graphs, but she had been about as stable as the rest of today’s level six monster tests. I stepped off the projection plane in some mixture of confusion and relief. She had held up her hand as a barrier, as though to say, _Don’t come closer._ But why? I could project her again, start over, but what good would it do? Even having my own feelings reflected back to me made me anxious. It wasn’t fair.

I could leave. I could walk out of the office and go home, and not wait for Zarc. I could simply avoid those feelings. But that would be unfair of me, downright rude, to someone who had been so generous to my career. So I stayed, and I waited.

“Am I late?”

I jumped. I’d let myself slip into a deep, internal reverie and had forgotten to watch the time. Zarc was standing in the lab doorway, casual but well-dressed in another dark-colored button-down shirt. I didn’t know why, but for some reason I had expected him to be in his battle-worn dueling gear, like he wore on his cover photo for the _Duelist_ interview.

“Uh—no, you’re right on time,” I said, knocking a stack of templates off of my desk as I stood up too quickly. “Ah—come in,” I stooped to collect the fallen papers.

He moved to stand about halfway between me and the door, as I quickly scooped up the templates and slapped the disorganized stack back on my desk.

“I kept the RSV unit running,” I said, slightly breathless, “To show you what we’re working on.”

“How does it work?”

“We’re still testing monsters currently,” I explained. Carefully avoiding eye contact with him, I pointed at the humming RSV machine. “This is a low-power build we’ve been using in this laboratory, just to test the properties of the technology. The larger RSV unit, like the one the arena has, is still downstairs in the Field Lab. Once we’ve determined the power level we need, we can apply it to the downstairs unit and start testing Traps and Spells on a projected Field, and running test duels to make sure it works.”

“What about the duel disk part?” he asked.

“Well,” I crossed to the other side of the projection plane, to a podium that contained a small device hooked into the computers on my father’s desk, “This developed out of the DDC project, but now it’s really a portable Real SolidVision projection module. The current duel disks send the signal of the cards being played to the RSV system in the arena, and the RSV unit projects them in solid form. This module can now handle a portion of the projection, and the RSV unit handles the rest.”

“Like half and half?” Zarc picked up the module gently and examined it closely.

“About twenty-five percent right now,” I said, “Ideally, I’d like the disks and the RSV unit to share the monster projection at fifty-fifty portions. It would reserve more energy for the RSV unit to focus on the Field and the Spell and Traps. We’re working our way there slowly; our last build could handle seventeen percent. We’re being careful not to be too ambitious too quickly and fry out the systems.”

Zarc put the module back down on the table, and I switched it on. The card plane sprang back into life.

“So it’s more like a duel disk now,” he said.

“More or less,” I replied, “Again, we built this one just to test the projection of monsters. The final product will fully run the game, and could eventually replace the current duel disks in future models.”

“And the monsters get projected here?” Zarc indicated the projection plane. It took up most of the room, given the size of the monsters that would have to appear there. “Sort of like an isolated piece of a Field?”

“Right,” I said, “We’ve worked our way up to level six Normal and Effect Monsters, I could show you…” I reached toward the stack of monsters we still had left to test, but he caught my arm.

“This one,” he said, holding out one card.

“Level seven?” I took the card, taking it carefully. It was old; a little worn around the edges, but I had seen this monster many times since Zarc had become the Champion. “I don’t know if the system can support—”

“Please.”

I looked up at him. He was earnest, insistent. He was still holding onto my arm.

“Alright,” I said, “I’ll—I can estimate a new power adjustment. It’ll only take a moment.” I let Zarc’s hand slide off my arm and moved around to my father’s desk and, according to the formula our parabolic graph was conveying, slid the energy output meter to about where it ought to be to support a level seven monster. The hum of the RSV unit across the room raised its pitch as the machine adjusted its frequency. I moved back around to the table in front of the projection plane, and gently laid Zarc’s monster card on the light plane.

It materialized on the platform, the great scarlet beast, the Odd-Eyes Dragon. Immediately its emotions struck me in great and acute measure like I had never felt before; thunderous and complex. It was disoriented, and then curious, as though waking up from sleep and finding itself in a new place. Its long tail swished along the surface of the platform, and it stamped around, shuffling this way and that, swinging its head on its long neck to peer around the room. I felt its longing, searching, and then…

It turned its head toward us, and its eyes fell upon Zarc, and I felt its incredible, undeniable joy. It stamped its feet, as though desperate to run off the projection plane at him. Zarc, too, was grinning; his face was glowing like I’d never seen, a wild and uncontainable happiness. He grabbed my wrist and charged forward, reaching his other hand out to greet his great beast. He clambered up onto the platform, dragging me along with him, and laid his hand on the dragon’s beaklike golden snout.

A new emotion, even stronger still, welled up in me from this creature. The dragon pushed right past his hand and pressed his face right into Zarc’s chest. Zarc let go of my hand and wrapped both his arms around the dragon’s jaws, bowing his own head into the monster’s brow. This feeling was overwhelming me, filling my heart and invading my mind, overpowering even my own thoughts.

Love.

It was overflowing with incredible, terrifying love. I felt like it would crush me, destroy me. I was drowning in it. I was dizzy. It was all I could do just to stay standing and breathe as Zarc embraced his great dragon like a brother. Presently he straightened up, and held the dragon’s jaws between his hands. The weight of the monster’s love subsided somewhat, but I could still feel it bearing upon me like a heavy blanket.

“He’s been with me since the beginning,” he explained, still gazing, enraptured, at the monster, “As far back as I can remember.”

The monster turned its head to me as Zarc addressed me, only just realizing I was there. Curiosity now entered into its mind, and it snapped its jaws playfully and shuffled its feet, wriggling in excitement.

“He’s rather rambunctious,” Zarc said with a laugh, “He loves attention, but he’s lacking a bit in confidence. He needs lots of encouragement.” 

The creature swished its tail again, and bobbed its head at me. I stepped forward in trepidation. I’d seen this monster in the arena, uninhibited in doing its master’s cruel bidding, but for all I could feel from this monster’s heart, there was no wrath in it at all. No evil, savage nature like it always seemed in its duels; just innocent, childlike happiness. I hesitated, wondering whether I could trust my own sense of this monster’s emotions.

“Go on,” Zarc said. He was still smiling.

I raised my hand and stroked the bridge of the monster’s snout. It blinked at me; it had one red eye and one green, but both gazed at me closely. The weight of its heart was nothing like I’d ever felt before; other monsters felt like a twinge, a little pressure, but this creature’s soul was massive and intemperate, almost more than I could bear. From deep within the dragon’s throat issued a soft, low crooning.

“He likes you,” Zarc laughed.

“I can tell,” I replied breathlessly. It was nowhere near the insurmountable love the monster had for Zarc, but I could feel its friendly appreciation toward me as I smiled back at it. It turned its head back to Zarc and nudged him playfully. Zarc chuckled and patted the monster’s jaw, and then without warning—the great dragon flickered out of sight.

It was like coming up for air. The weight of the dragon’s emotions lifted off of me and I drew a breath, and realized I was shaking. Zarc dropped his hand to his side and glanced up at the projector above.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped, “Right now the system only sustains the monsters for a few minutes before it needs to recharge.”

“It’s fine,” Zarc said, but he looked a little lost. He shoved his hands into his pockets, as he had done when we had talked under the trellises at the Stardust Hotel, and seemed unsure as to how to continue the conversation now that the subject had vanished.

I stepped down from the platform and retrieved his card from the light plane on the projector module. I wasn’t sure what to say, how to put the feeling of the crushing weight of his dragon’s presence into words. Did he feel it, too? Was he just used to it? 

“You’ve made excellent progress,” he said, turning around, suddenly businesslike. “I’m—I’m looking forward to seeing the results of the…” He looked down at my hand offering his card. He took my hand, put the card back in his jacket pocket, and held my hand between both of his own. “Have dinner with me.”

“What?” I blustered, completely blindsided by the request. “I just—”

I looked into his face as he waited, holding my hand, for my answer. His expression was much the same as when he had offered me his dragon card, asking me to project it for him. Earnest. 

I could say yes. I had lied and told Father I was meeting Kari for coffee; I could be gone for another couple of hours without him worrying about where I was. I could spend an evening with a very rich man that so many other women were dying to get even a glance from. He could take me somewhere extremely nice, exclusive and private, and ridiculously expensive. It’d be nothing for a man like him, the most famous duelist in the entire League…

“It’s just not a good idea,” I said quietly, letting my hand slip out of his. 

I wanted to apologize. I felt so very unkind. He looked crestfallen, and I imagined not very many women had rejected his invitations before. But he gathered himself quickly, put his hands back into his pockets once again, and said, “Right, it’s not appropriate, because of…business ethics.” Was there a little bitterness in his voice?

“Please understand,” I said imploringly, “I’m not—I just think it would come across as a conflict of interest.”

His hands were still in his pockets but his eyes were fixed on my face. “There’s no conflict in my interests.”

I felt the traitorous flush rise in my cheeks as I looked away from him, muttering, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s a pleasure working with you.” He turned on his heel and walked stiffly toward the lab exit. He had almost reached the door when, perhaps against my better judgement, I called out—

“Yuusha.”

He spun around, and met me with a surprised, hopeful gaze.

I took a breath. “After we finish testing Effect Monsters, we’ll be moving on to Fusion,” I said slowly. “Please come back and see our progress in the future.”

His face split into a glowing grin again, and without another word he shouldered his way out of the lab door, leaving me alone in the lab, as the projection system hummed quietly behind me.

I stood alone for another several minutes, trying to process this strange interaction. It was like I was drunk again, only able to recall fleeting, disconnected moments. His presence again, oddly calm and unguarded. His dragon, the fearsome beast of the arena, was nothing like I’d ever felt from any monster in the lab before. Even my own monsters had never felt so real, so close, so inexplicably alive. 

Suddenly struck with a thrill of panic, I rushed to my father’s computer screens. The energy output readings were listed on the monitor, accompanied by a full-body model of the Odd-Eyes Dragon. I took a moment to register that the energy output from Zarc’s dragon had read at just about the same as any other monster we had tested together, slightly elevated due to its higher level. So there really was no detectable difference, no measurable reason that this monster had felt so tumultuously filled with life…it was just another creature like they all were, another synthetically projected model, at least in body. Quietly, as the hum of the RSV unit lowered its pitch into inactive silence, I deleted the monster’s data from all of our test records.

So my father would never know.

~~~

I would see Zarc’s face on the magazines in the convenience stores, plastered with brightly-colored captions like _WHAT’S HIS SECRET?_ and offering deck-building tips that might emulate his style and flair. I ignored them. I averted my eyes from the TV screens that recapped his latest arena appearances, and diverted Kari’s pointed comments about my “prospects.” 

It was harder still to avoid listening to Kari and Danny on certain Monday mornings, excitedly rehashing the play-by-play of Zarc’s latest victories. Any tournament winner could chose to take his victory and walk away with considerable prize money, or to challenge the Elite that sponsored the event. Flintlock was the newest to the shortlisted group of Elites after having unseated the previous one about half a year ago. It was always all over the news when an Elite fell; constantly recapped and described in graphic, horrifying detail in every magazine and newspaper, chatted about with rapture in every grocery line. One weekend Danny had finally managed to get tickets to one of Zarc’s championship matches, and he and Kari couldn’t help but recount over and over how that same great scarlet dragon—the friendly one, the one with the mismatched eyes that had playfully let me stroke its nose—had slammed that tournament winner right into the ground, shattering that shining moment of victory into wretched, horrific defeat.

But now I knew that monster wasn’t vicious. It had long been said that a duelist’s favorite monsters were the manifestation of his soul; and yet after meeting his most beloved dragon, an innocent, gentle and kind creature, I felt even more conflicted over Zarc than I had before. It was like the Zarc of the arena, on the screens and in the magazines, was a completely different person than the one who had visited me in the darkened lab after hours, talking lovingly about his dragon over the low hum of the RSV system. A quietly passionate man, as disparate in spirit as the color of his monster’s eyes. Yuusha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAMN IT RAY
> 
> Chapter 6: Secrets


	6. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have outlined the last few scenes and determined that this story will end at fourteen chapters. We're almost halfway through!

 

> _ I'm trying not to let it show, that I don't want to let this go._
> 
> _ Is there somewhere you can meet me? _
> 
> _ 'Cause I clutched your arms like stairway railings,_
> 
> _ And you clutched my brain and eased my ailing._

\- Halsey, "Is There Somewhere"

* * *

 

He did come back. It took us another three weeks to finish testing and slowly raising and adjusting the power levels between the new projection module and the RSV reactor. But, once we had moved on to successfully stabilize Fusion monsters, he returned; again after hours once everyone had left the office, and I made another excuse to my father about wanting to drop by the shopping mall after work. He held out another dragon, and I projected it for him just as I had with the Odd-Eyes Dragon.

This Fusion monster, the Starving Venom Fusion Dragon, was another I’d seen many times before in the arena; a lithe, serpentine body with powerful, bulbous arms and legs and a whiplike hooked tail.  It gave off a sickly-sweet, caustic scent, like the overpowering odor of a poisonous flower.  Again when it appeared to us its emotions weighed on me with an incredible pressure, but this dragon did not appreciate being woken up in a strange place, and had nothing but disdain for me the moment it saw me. It hissed and spat at me, and moved in close to Zarc.

“He’s a bit temperamental, he doesn’t play well with others,” Zarc explained apologetically, as the great beast coiled its snakelike body around him. It, too, loved Zarc with a crushing, overwhelming depth that made me dizzy, but perhaps because I was ready for it this time, I managed to stay more lucid. “Quite vain, really, but he can be affectionate when he—” the dragon wrapped its claw right around Zarc’s face and butted its nose against the side of his head. 

I actually laughed, watching him struggle against the dragon's aggressive affection, and he narrowed his eyes at me in jesting irritation. With his mouth covered, Zarc waved his arm in the direction of the projection module, indicating that I should remove the card. I obliged, still sniggering, and crossed to the module on the table to remove the card, so the monster disappeared into undetectable particles once again.

“Thank you,” he said, not only for being freed of his monster’s coils but also for showing him our progress. “I—I’m happy to see this is going well.”

I nodded. “We’ve gotten the power output from the auxiliary reactor-conversion device up to about thirty-three percent,” I said, “so my goal of fifty perfect looks very possible by the time we finish Xyz monsters. But we’ll be moving into Synchro for this next phase.”

“Auxiliary reactor-conversion device? You mean that thing that used to be the DDC?”

“Right,” I said, “This is our second main build so far.”

Zarc put his hands into his pockets, looking wistfully up at the projector, and then back to me with a small smile. I returned it with slight hesitation, trying to guess what he might be thinking, but he turned around and walked to the edge of the projection plane. I thought he would jump down from it, and it seemed for a moment like that was what he had planned to do as well; but then he paused, and sat down on the edge of the platform with his back turned to me.

“This is all amazing,” he said quietly, without turning to look at me.

I bit my lip for a moment, trying to think how to respond.

“It won’t change much about the game, or the monsters on the Field,” I conceded, “All this will do is smooth it out a little.”

“I know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at me briefly, “But…well, I really admired your father and his work several years ago. It’s amazing.”

I let my breath out through my nose, and then walked over to the edge of the platform and sat down as well, a few feet away from him. “I don’t suppose I have to point out the irony of that.”

He folded his hands in his lap with a tight-lipped smile, and looked up at the ceiling. “The papers started announcing the implementation of Real SolidVision for the Pro League a few months before it debuted in the arena. I read every press cutting about it, every interview your father gave about how it worked and why he had chosen the game as the application of his invention. Dueling with real, tangible monsters. It seemed incredible. And in several of those interviews he said that his daughter was his great inspiration for the machine.”

He looked back at me, and I held his gaze. I remembered those days, when excitement and anticipation about the addition of Real SolidVision to Duel Monsters had spiked my father’s popularity in the media. But if Zarc knew so much about him even before he himself was famous, then…

“Is that why you let me into your house?” I concluded, “When I rang your doorbell, thinking that tower was your manager’s office?”

He smiled a little wider, a little more sincerely. “I wanted to see for myself what was so inspiring about you.”

I felt the back of my neck prickle with uninvited heat. “I’m not. That’s just what all parents say.”

“Is it?”

I stared down at my own hands in my lap. I couldn’t bring myself to admit I’d read that article that Kari had pushed on me, the one with the brief but somehow all-too-enlightening mention of Zarc’s young life. He’d never had parents, or anything resembling a family; just a series of uncaring caretakers who punted him from home to home.

I diverted his question.

“My father was always obsessed with the theory of it all,” I said, “Even before the machine was in development. Instead of bedtime stories I’d fall asleep listening to him talk about the mysteries of the universe yet to be solved. Energy, matter, time, and space all as one entity in an endless, undulating movement. He claimed to be a scientist but it all sounded so…spiritual. Magical.”

“You said he didn’t believe in magic,” he said, a little slyly. 

“He doesn’t,” I conceded, “But he believed in this. It was an old theory made by old scientists, it was mathematically provable but never applicable to real life. But then—then the technology _was_ suddenly real, and my father told me, ‘this will open the gateway to a new power, a greater form of knowledge.’ I didn’t understand what he meant at the time. I still don’t, not really. But the emotions of the monsters—there’s no equation for that. No flesh or bone or brain chemistry to generate feelings, much less ones that resonate within me the way they do. To me, it felt like my father’s machine only created more mysteries, rather than opening the way to any solutions.” I looked up at the laboratory ceiling, imagining I could see through the upper floors to the darkening night sky above. “What we do here is still just science—energy, matter, time, and space—but life, a soul, is something else still. There has to be more than just what we can test and calculate.”

I looked back down again and saw him smiling at me, just like he had when I’d gotten lost in my nostalgia before when we had talked in his home. I felt an uncanny sincerity from him, that he was genuinely engaged with my words instead of feigning attentiveness to bait me somehow. It was an odd feeling; being listened to, having someone yield to the value of my words. So I kept talking.

“Science has rules and measures, limits and laws,” I said, “Conservation and conversion, not creation and destruction. But a soul sparks into life, and later, it dies and leaves nothing behind. It’s unmeasurable but undeniable. It doesn’t apply to the same rules. It’s not science, but it’s truth, isn’t it?”

He jumped down to stand on the floor beside the projection plane and walked alongside it, dragging his hand across the surface until he stopped right beside me. His hand was inches away from my leg.

“Energy, matter, time and space,” he repeated, looking up at me with slightly narrowed eyes, as though trying to see beyond me, “And even after all that, a spirit exists outside of that boundary?”

“It seems that way,” I replied. My pulse was spreading that uninvited prickly heat from the back of my neck all the way down to the tips of my fingers.

“The monsters have told me a lot of secrets,” he said quietly, barely more than a whisper as he stood almost close enough to me for my knees to touch his chest, “But there are still more secrets I want to know. I could never quite reach them on my own.”

He held his hand out to me to help me down from the platform.

“You really are inspirational.”

I took an extra moment to stare down at his hand, before dropping down to the laboratory floor without taking it.

“I have to power down the system now,” I mumbled.

“So…I suppose I’ll see you…next month or so?”

I hesitated. I thought I understood his meaning: next month, when I had more to show him on our development progress, and not sooner? Not any other time for any other purpose, like dinner, or coffee, or a quiet walk in a lamplit garden path?

“Yes, next month,” I said finally, with a hasty edge to my voice. “I…I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

The prickly feeling had somehow become accompanied by a lightness in my stomach.

“I will too.”

 

I was certain by now that there was nothing my project could do for Zarc that would really justify his investment, other than using it as an excuse to see me. Between his visits I would try not to think about him, but it was practically impossible with his face plastered all over town. Even so, after four private conversations with him, each more mysterious than the last, the harshly-lit likeness of Supreme King Zarc in the posters seemed strangely artificial. An affectation and a costume. A put-on charade of smoke and mirrors for the benefit of the fans, for the lights and the camera, but not for me. He was someone else for me. Especially on the occasions when he would steal into my dreams unannounced, making me wake up with my heart racing. I couldn’t make sense of it. I couldn’t make sense of him.

 

He returned on another Friday evening, when I told my father I had promised to help Kari prepare dinner for her romantic evening with Danny. This time he was holding two white paper cups.

“If it’s inappropriate for me to take you to dinner,” he said as a way of greeting, “I figured I can still bring you coffee.” 

I took the cup with a smile, hoping the dim lighting would hide my blush. “Our Synchro monsters have been stable during all our latest tests,” I said, “It’s a formulaic summoning method, so it was pretty straightforward with its energy output.”

“Let’s see it,” he said, holding out a different card with a white background.

I placed the card on the light plane, and the monster appeared on the platform just as the others had. Like the others, I felt its great, powerful presence descend upon me. It had a long, sleek body, and no discernible feet, but instead hovered a meter off the ground. It was equipped with a set of glowing transparent wings and a blunt nose with a large jaw.

“Clear Wing Synchro Dragon,” Zarc introduced, and the creature lowered its face to lay its bottom jaw on the top of his head. But then it saw me, and I was instantly overwhelmed with its sense of complete affection.

I didn’t even have time to back away before the huge dragon had scooped me up in both of its giant six-fingered claws. I shrieked in surprise, and one of my shoes slipped off of my foot and fell back down to the ground, but the dragon cradled me right under its chin, and I started giggling.

“He’s so cuddly!” I laughed, as the monster’s open mouth dripped slobber onto my lab coat.

“Well, he’s—” Zarc was looking up at me and the dragon, concerned but surprised, “—never acted quite like this before. Are you alright?”

“He’s not going to hurt me,” I called back down, which was true—there was nothing malevolent in this monster’s emotions; all I could detect was its gushing, innocent pleasure as it held me like a precious doll.

“That’s enough,” Zarc called up to the dragon, “That’s not a toy. Put her down, now.”

The dragon snorted in refusal, and flew me to the other side of the projection platform with its back to Zarc. My other shoe fell off, and I wrapped my arms around the creature’s neck instinctively. I felt its glee as I hugged it, and it continued to drool on me happily. I was its new favorite thing, its prized possession. I openly laughed at its precious, childlike fascination with me.

Zarc chased us across the platform below, looking exasperated. “Put her down,” he ordered firmly. “Drop her.”

The dragon made a deep, whining noise inside its throat. It was rather adorable.

“Don’t give me that. Drop.”

My stomach flipped over as the dragon did, in fact, drop me, in a swooping free fall of several yards before Zarc lunged to catch me easily in his arms, and I flung my own arms around his neck to stabilize myself.

“There we go,” Zarc said, smiling down at me. He really wasn’t exerting any effort to hold me like this. He was quite strong, carrying me with one arm around my back and the other beneath my thighs. He even smelled familiar, that light, heady musk again. I thought of lamps on trellised pathways, and…and maybe one of my dreams had started like this, if I tilted my head just a little to the side it would be resting on his shoulder…it was hard to remember how that dream had ended, I couldn’t quite recall it, but I remembered how I’d felt when I’d woken up…

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” I blinked, and suddenly became aware that my fingers had clenched around the back of his shirt. I tried opening my hand to smooth out the wrinkle I’d made, but the fabric was thin, and the muscle of his shoulder blade underneath was…

“You’re not hurt?” he repeated, but his cheek twitched into a grin as he still held me in his arms, his face inches away from mine.

“Yes, I mean—no, I’m not, tha—thank you,” I said, breathless for a reason that had nothing to do with my sudden fall. I was disoriented and covered in dragon slobber, and Zarc was still grinning at me.

A heavy breath fell on my cheek, and we both looked around to see the dragon’s snout just inches from my face. Zarc put me back down on my feet and put his hand on the dragon’s nose to push it away. “Enough of that, you silly thing.”

I took the opportunity to move away from him as quickly as possible to cross the platform to fetch my shoes and hide my blush. I felt the dragon move right behind me, as though wanting to follow me and snatch me up again, before Zarc called out at it, “I told you, no!” as a firm, almost parental warning.

The dragon snorted again, petty and frustrated. It moved again to the opposite side of the platform with its back turned, and sulked.

“I’m sorry about that,” Zarc said, with a bit of a laugh, “He’s childish and stubborn. But he’s sorry he scared you, and he hopes you aren’t mad at him.”

“I like him,” I answered, slipping my shoes back on, “He’s a good boy.”

The dragon looked back over its shoulder, perking up at my compliment, and then—flickered out of sight. Time was up. The RSV reactor lowered its pitch a bit, and my heart sank. 

“I hardly ever get to interact with them like this,” Zarc gazed longingly at the empty platform. “They disappear at the end of every duel. I can still hear them as cards, but it’s much more faint.”

I paused, trying to think of a way to phrase this question without directly asking what I really wanted to know, “Can you hear your opponents’ monsters, too?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “They don’t have voices.”

I didn’t know what to make of this statement. I had sensed emotion, however faint, in every monster that we had projected in our tests here. There was something in each of them, some sentience and intelligence, but—

“Yours are special?”

He jumped off the projection plane to retrieve his card from the light plane on the table. “They can only have what we give them,” he responded thoughtfully. “When you use something as a tool, that’s all it ever is. But if you really put your heart into it, it can become alive.”

I stepped back down onto the floor, watching him curiously. He was smiling down at his card, and I wondered if it was whispering to him again. 

“I feel a resonance from every monster,” I said, “But some are stronger to me than others. I understand my own monsters the most clearly, and…” I trailed off for a moment, still unsure as to how to describe the thunderous, powerful emotion I had felt from Zarc’s own monsters, “…and the ones other people are really close with.”

He walked toward me slowly, pensively. “Every monster’s soul has the potential to be fully alive, but they can only be as alive as we make them. I’ve never heard anything from my opponents’ monsters. None of them think of their monsters as anything more than digital projections of cards, so that’s what they are.” he stopped right in front of me and I felt my heartbeat speed up as I looked up into his face, “Except for you.”

The photographs on the magazines probably hadn’t been doctored at all. He really was that attractive. His eyes were such a warm color, how had I never noticed before?

“You and I are special,” he said softly, “I can hear their voices, and you can feel their hearts. No one else can connect with them this—” he brushed his hand across my cheek to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, “—intimately.”

“Thank you for the coffee,” I stepped back, registering with relief that the dragon slobber on my lab coat had disappeared along with the monster itself as I looked down.

“Anytime.” He turned around to examine our current module build on the table in front of the projection plane. “How much longer do you think it will take in testing before this thing is ready for real dueling?”

“We’ll be moving on to Xyz monsters in two weeks,” I replied, thankful for the change of subject, “Then we’ll focus the following month on running test duels downstairs.”

“I worked out the schedule with Shino,” he said, “the Elites Exhibition will take place at the end of the year. Would it be ready by then?”

I had forgotten about the Exhibition. All four of the current Elites versus Zarc, one by one. My stomach twisted, and I suddenly felt nauseated.

“That—that might be a good opportunity to test the product outside of the lab,” I answered, trying to sound normal. “By then we should at least have some finished models; it would be a good opportunity to show off the advancements…”

“So, yes?”

“I’ll suggest it to my father,” I said, “Until then—you have an Xyz monster, right?”

“I do.”

“I’ll let you know when we’ve moved on to those.”

He held out his hand to shake mine. I took it in some trepidation, but he just said, “I’ll look forward to it, Ray.”

And he left again.

I finished the now-lukewarm latte in silence, sinking down at my desk with the hum of the machine in the background. I ought to turn it off, but something about its white noise was comforting.

So the next time we met, it would be the last time I’d see him. Our project would be done, and his interest would make no more excuse to meet me here in the lab for our intimate conversations. There was a small part of me that felt relieved, that I’d never have to endure his presence again. But there was another part of me, the part that fluttered when he held me in his arms, when I looked into his warm eyes, that felt anxious and devastated at the thought of never seeing him again.

One more meeting. One more chance to decide how I really felt.

I’d convinced my father not to wait on me for dinner, but my lunch salad was quite awhile ago, so on my way home I dropped by the convenience store for a quick meal. It wasn’t that late but it was quiet enough that I could wander hopelessly in my scattered thoughts while browsing the sparse selection of sandwiches and boxed microwaveable dinners. I picked out an ordinary ham sandwich, and was on my way to the cash register when I passed by the magazine rack, and habitually scanned the display for another issue of _Balance_ that might have come out this week.

Most of the selections on the rack featured variations on the same recent scandal, some trash involving Jericho with his manager that I’d already heard gossiped about at a pharmacy the other day. I didn’t see what I was looking for, but something else caught my eye. One of those salacious fashion-lifestyle magazines with a forgettable title that I’d always pass over in this area, but this time featuring Zarc on the cover. In its slot in the rack all I could see was the top few inches of the cover, but with his hand against his forehead in some sort of casually provocative pose that served only the purpose of accentuating every deeply-lit curve of his arm and shoulder. His naked arm and shoulder.

I glanced around me to make sure no one was nearby to see what I was doing, and slowly pulled the magazine upward out of the rack to expose more of the cover. I let out my breath like I was deflating, because yes—just as I suspected—he was completely shirtless.

He had his back to the camera, but it was plenty. A black and white photo to highlight the perfect, detailed relief of every muscle in his back, from the gentle angle of his shoulder blade to the curved dip of his spine, even that little dimple right above the waistband of his dark-colored slacks. I stared down at the issue between my hands with some mixture of self-reproach and utter reverence. With another fervent glance around to ensure that no one was watching, I flipped open the magazine and found what I was looking for with hardly any searching: a two-page spread, still in black and white, of Zarc reclining thoroughly shirtless on a dark leather chaise. 

It was accompanied by some article that I had no interest in whatsoever next to this expertly-composed photograph. He had one arm behind his neck and the thumb of his other hand tucked under the waistband of his slacks, gazing into the camera with eyes that were all at once sultry and disdainful. It was just the type of tawdry gratuity Zarc had always offered his fans, which I used to scoff at when Kari fawned over them and shoved them in my face. But upon looking at him objectively, if I detached myself from my previous disgust and bitterness, it was undeniable: he was absolutely gorgeous.

Of course he was handsome, but I’d never really thought much of it. After I’d had to back out of the Pro League I’d never deigned to admire those that had followed Zarc’s lead into the “new era” of dueling, but it was natural that all the Real Fighters should be in excellent physical shape, given the athletic demands of the game as it had become. Certainly that perfect combination of his softly-curved cheek and his strong jawline called upon both his lusty youth and quintessential masculinity all at once, but his body…his body was a masterpiece. I let my eyes wander all over the photo, from his sensual eyes to the shadowed dip of his chest, his rippling oblique, the firm contour of his abdomen and then his thumb sneaking under the waistband of his slacks…Incredible how the colorless shadowing of this photo seemed to enhance the glow of his skin, every perfect, chiseled, mouthwatering detail…

My eye fell on the corner of the page, on which there was a fragrance patch labelled “SARKANY.” Dimly, I remembered Kari mentioning the word from an earlier issue of this same magazine: his cologne. That enticing, velvety musk that I could only detect when I was close to him, close enough to kiss him…

I swallowed, brought the magazine close to my face, and inhaled.

“Mmm, that’s a good one,” came a voice from right behind me.

I jumped and snapped my head around to see a prim middle-aged woman right by my shoulder with her eyes fixed covetously on my open magazine. She allowed herself another sighing moment to savor the photo spread in my hands, and then walked away, twisting her wedding ring on her finger as she went.

Broken out of my reverie, I hastily stuffed the magazine upside-down and backward into the rack and charged out of the store so quickly that I almost forgot to pay for my sandwich, and had to walk back inside in a distracted fluster. I also bought a bottle of water, with the offhand thought that I might pour it over my head.

There was a bench outside the convenience store where I dropped to eat my sandwich. It was dry and tasteless, and I stared at the pavement as I chewed. It’d been over two years since my last boyfriend had told me he’d had enough of me, always buried in my dull work and never sparing him my time or attention. Two years thinking I had nothing to offer, miserable and undesirable and boring, because that man—that luxuriously handsome, enigmatic man in that magazine—had ruined everything I’d worked so hard to achieve in the Dueling League. I’d felt unwanted, locked away that visceral temptation, let myself forget that feeling of hot-headed, wet-mouthed wanting, but…

A light, musical tone issued from my purse. My belly flooded with heat as I frantically pulled out the original DDC, thinking I’d see that same unknown disk code requesting my call acceptance, but it was Kari’s name that appeared on the screen.

I opened the communication channel, and said “Hello?” cheerfully, keeping my voice light to disguise how hot and bothered I felt.

“Ray!” Kari’s voice came from the other end, “Um, um, do you want to go out for lunch tomorrow?”

“Lunch?” I said, “Oh! Yeah! I’m free all day tomorrow.”

“Okay!” She sounded breathless and excited, “I have something to ask you. It’ll be like a girls’ day out, okay? Do you want to go shopping afterward?”

“Whatever you want,” I said, smiling and thinking I ought to buy a pair of work shoes that wouldn’t slip off, “Hey, how was your dinner with Danny?”

Kari giggled, and only replied, “I’ll meet you tomorrow at noon at that new place we want to try, remember?”

“Got it, I’ll see you then.”

She hung up, and I felt better as I finished eating my boring sandwich. A girls’ day out was just what I needed. I had a lot of things to confess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're good dragons brent


	7. Vows

> _There was a boy,_
> 
> _A very strange enchanted boy._
> 
> _They say he wandered very far, very far_
> 
> _Over land and sea._
> 
> _A little shy and sad of eye_
> 
> _But very wise was he._
> 
>  
> 
> _And then one day_
> 
> _A lucky day he passed my way._
> 
> _Then we spoke of many things:_
> 
> _Fools and kings,_
> 
> _Then he said to me,_
> 
> _“The greatest thing you'll ever learn_
> 
> _Is to love and be loved in return.”_
> 
>  

_-_ AURORA, “Nature Boy”

 

* * *

 

There was a little country bistro that had opened up a few blocks from work that Kari and I had both mentioned wanting to try, so at our agreed time of noon I waited outside the door. Kari ran up ten minutes late, with her hair somewhat more flyaway than usual, and a newspaper squashed under her arm.

“Sorry! I, um, overslept!” she panted, “Oh, they serve pancakes all day!”

We found a table near the window; I intentionally steered Kari to a spot out of the way of most of the other patrons so we could talk more privately. Our waiter left us with menus, and I looked over mine to see Kari positively glowing with excitement.

“So,” I laid my menu down and leaned across the table, “What did you want to ask me?”

“Well,” Kari took a deep breath, and then stuck out her left hand across the table.

“ _He proposed_!” I practically screeched with excitement at the glittering ring on her finger.

Kari nodded, bouncing up and down in her seat. “Last night! It was _my_ plan to treat him to a romantic dinner at my place but then _he_ sprang it on me! It was perfect,” she sighed, admiring the ring on her finger with her chin resting dreamily in her other hand. 

Our waiter came back to take our orders, but since neither of us had had a chance to even look at the menus, she hastily ordered pancakes and I chose whatever salad option I saw first, so Kari could get back to talking.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you…if you’d be one of my bridesmaids? I called my sister and my best friend from high school already, but you’re my favorite coworker and we’ve worked together for a while now, and I really appreciate you promoting me with your new department, and—”

“Of course I’ll be your bridesmaid,” I said with cheerful firmness. “I’ve never been a bridesmaid before. When is the wedding?”

“We’re thinking after New Year’s,” she mused, “A fresh start, you know? I think Danny and I will get a new place together, rather than keeping his or my place. There’s so much planning to do!”

We talked for a while about color combinations and dress styles that would suit her figure, and flowers, and whether or not Danny might agree to let her aunt sing at the wedding. Our food came, and I was pleasantly surprised at the apple-and-walnut salad I had randomly selected. Kari’s pancakes came with a mountain of whipped cream topped with several glazed strawberries.

“We’ll be holding an engagement party too. But enough about me for now,” Kari said after a mouthful of pancake, “You’ve seemed really distracted at work lately. Are you okay? Been on any dates?”

I slammed my head down on the table next to my salad right as our waiter behind me asked nervously, “Is…everything okay over here?”

“It’s great, thanks,” Kari said, staring at me in concern, and when he left she said, “SoI take it that your little stroke of crazy luck with that ‘ _random guy_ ’ all those months ago at the Stardust gala didn’t keep going?”

“Um,” I lifted my head back up, but didn’t look her in the face. “Actually…”

Kari leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Actually what?”

“He’s come by the office three times after hours since then.”

“ _What_!” 

Kari’s high-pitched shriek sent me almost reeling backwards out of my chair. I slammed my hand down on the table and said “ _Shhh_!” so forcibly that a couple a few tables away stopped their conversation and stared at us. I waved at them with a fake smile, trying to look casual, and they went back to talking.

“ _After hours_?” Kari hissed, leaning so far over the table at me that her chest was almost touching her pancakes, “So it’s just been you and him in the lab alone? What have you been—are you guys, like—what—”

“ _No_ ,” I said emphatically, “Nothing’s happened, okay? He was interested in seeing the equipment we’ve been building. He paid for all of it, after all; he just wanted to see what we’ve been working on.”

“He wants to…see your ‘ _equipment’_?”

“Oh my god, shut up,” I rolled my eyes, and Kari cackled. “It’s only been three visits, and I just showed him the new prototypes and capabilities as we’ve been building them. But I can’t tell my father, because he doesn’t even know who our anonymous investor was and I’m sure he’d be upset if he knew. We just talk about the RSV system and the monsters, but…” My mind wandered back to those magazine photos last night.

“But you like him,” Kari finished for me.

“No,” I said instinctively. “He’s just…interesting.”

“So you’re interested in him.”

I dropped my head into my hands. “I don’t know. I still hate his stupid celebrity persona and his horrifying ‘performances’ in the arena, but…I don’t know. When I’m alone with him, he’snot like that at all. He’s passive and kind. It’s like he’s two completely different people.” I decided to leave out the part about the tumult of emotion I felt from his monsters, their love for him, their incredibly lively souls. “It’s weeks and weeks between our meetings and we don’t have any contact at all and I can try to forget about him, but then he’ll visit again and I just…I just…I don’t know how to feel…he wrecked my father’s reputation…”

I trailed off, unwilling to show Kari my face lest I give more away than I wanted to. She let me sit there and stew in my confusion for a few moments, before saying thoughtfully, “I know you keep saying that, Ray, but I don’t think this is really about your father.”

I lifted my face out of my hands and let my chin rest sulkily on my hand. “How do you figure?”

“Well, it’s because of him that you can’t duel anymore, right? Because your dad pulled you out of the League when the Real Fights got popular after what Zarc did. Zarc is the reason you’ve been so miserable for the past three years. He’s the one who made you so unhappy.”

I straightened up, letting my hand fall back down onto the table. This was the first time I’d ever heard Kari, Zarc’s consummate fan, ever talk about him with anything other than lavish praise. Even more surprising was her uncharacteristic insight into my dilemma, rather than her usual disregard of my problems. Perhaps I’d never given her enough credit, or perhaps being engaged had changed her perspective overnight. 

“I guess you’re right.”

“But now,” she continued, piercing a glossy strawberry with her fork and holding it against her lips as she narrowed her eyes at me behind her glasses, “Maybe he can fix that for you. He can make you happy again.”

“But my father—”

“Your father doesn’t have to know,” Kari said, waving her strawberry on her fork to dismiss my protest, “And he’d want you to be happy, too. You’ve got something good right in front of you. If you want it, if it will make you happy, you just have to reach out and _take it._ Who would blame you? I know you have your ‘standards’ or whatever, but what’s the point of being morally superior for your own self-satisfaction if you’re still unhappy?”

Something about her words struck a chord in my memory, perhaps something someone else had said to me once, but I couldn’t quite place it. I looked down at my salad; healthy, but ultimately I knew it would leave me feeling unsatisfied. I could have something so much better—far, far, inconceivably better than just a black-and-white magazine photo and a cologne sample. Maybe Kari was right. I was eating salad when I could be having cake; sweet, decadent vindication on this man for the past three years of misery he’d brought me.

“Why does he even want this auxiliary reaction-whatever projection thingy anyway?” Kari mused, returning to her pancakes. “It’s not like it makes him any better at dueling. It doesn’t change the arena tactics or add anything to the spectacle of it all. That was an awful lot of money to dump on a glorified energy distribution project.”

Zarc’s voice echoed in my mind, _I can hear their voices, and you can feel their hearts. No one else can connect with them this intimately._ The man who’d had no family since he was a child, no constant friends, no stability; only monsters that whispered to him from inside the cards. He’d been alone his whole life and I might even be the first person he’d felt any closeness with.

“He just really likes the game,” I said, returning to my now-unappetizing salad. “Just wants to see it work even better, I guess. New advancements need enthusiastic investors. He’s an entertainer, after all. It’s his job to make everybody excited and to push the limits of the game.”

“Uh-huh,” Kari narrowed her eyes behind her glasses, but then suddenly widened them again. “Oh gosh, I can’t believe we’ve been sitting here talking about him and I forgot to show you—!” She pulled up the newspaper she’d been carrying when I met her outside. The headline read—

_FOUR VS ONE: AN EXHIBITION OF THE ELITES_

—and featured headshots of each of the four Elites signed on to the exhibition, stacked up against a large photograph of Zarc himself.

“Oh. Right.”

“All four of them versus him, one by one,” she said excitedly, “It’s going to be spectacular, don’t you think?”

“Spectacular” was not the word I would have chosen, so I said, “Grotesque, you mean.”

“I wonder how they choose the order of the Elites facing him,” she went on, “If he gets injured in one of the earlier duels, he could be a goner in the next one if he can’t move well.”

“You think Zarc could lose? I thought you were a big fan.” I tried to push the image of an injured Zarc at the mercy of Diesel’s machine creatures out of my mind. “He’s never been injured in a duel before.”

“He only ever does one duel per tournament, if his winner challenges him,” Kari replied, “But four in a row is strenuous, and the Elites are the best of the best; they’ll put up a much tougher fight than usual. The later duelists have a better chance at beating him because he might be off his game at the end. Do you think the lineup is based on ratings…?” She scanned the newspaper, and I pushed away my empty salad plate.

“I think we’re going to try to finish the auxiliary reactor-conversion module for implementation by then,” I mentioned casually, “Five famous duelists with very different decks and strategies will be a good way to show off the new system. I suggested the idea to my father last night and he thought it was a great idea. It’ll boost our new department’s credit like crazy.” 

“So you knew about this?” Kari slapped the newspaper down so she could glare across the table at me.

“Well, I was sort of there when they came up with the idea at the Stardust gala,” I admitted, “The event hosts invited me into the back lounge area to talk to all the other VIPs, and the Elites just started arguing about never getting a chance to challenge Zarc, so Zarc offered to take them all on at once.”

“Incredible,” she said wistfully. “I wish I could be you.”

“Because you’d dump Danny in an instant if you were me?” I said with a narrow-eyed smirk.

Kari rolled her eyes, “Oh please, Ray. After that Stardust party Danny and I could hardly talk about anything except how you had kissed Zarc, and if that ever happened to either of us that we’d both be okay with it, but it was only ever fantasies. Zarc didn’t kiss _me_ at that party, he didn’t invest in _my_ work or send _me_ flowers or visit _me_ secretly after hours. For me he’s just magazines and daydreams, not the real thing. But he’s real for _you_. So what are you going to do about him?”

“Aren’t you going to throw an engagement party?” I reminded her, trying to deflect from more talk about my own situation. 

“Yes, that’s right!” she cried, as if just now remembering, and took a second to admire her ring again before continuing, “So, where do you want to go shopping first? We both need new outfits for that, and then you and my sister and my friend from school can plan my bridal shower, because I want it to be a surprise. By the way, if you’re bringing a plus-one…” 

We paid and left the cafe, and decided to walk down the block to a series of boutique shops. Kari couldn’t decide between a lacy purple dress or a figure-flattering red one for her engagement party, so she bought both. I ended up with a draped pink number that was slinkier than I was used to, but which Kari insisted was the perfect combination of classy and sexy on me, especially with the matching shoes. I was feeling more feminine than I had in a long while. It was nice to think about something other than work.

 

And then work became frustrating. Father liked the idea of installing the new module builds in the Elites’ disks to show off the advanced technology at the exhibition and proving to Shino that our department could greatly lower the arena’s energy spending while generating public interest in an evolved product, but we had to schedule meetings with the Marketing department, Manufacturing, Shino himself and the other arena staff, and what felt like a thousand other parties that needed to be on board. All of that meant that our testing on Xyz monsters had to get delayed. It would be easy, my father reasoned, to update a finished system with those capabilities after we ensured that the device would work in real duels with the monsters we had tested. So we had to oversee weeks and weeks of test duels downstairs in the Field lab. Sometimes my father and I would take turns to play ourselves, so we could observe the system working up close with the other technicians, but it was the first time that I would ever prefer to be back upstairs in the testing lab than dueling. If we didn’t build the energy structure for Xyz monsters, then he…

The exhibition was drawing closer. We eventually got the system running, after what felt like hundreds of test duels and careful tweaking, to the high standard my father had boasted to Shino in our meeting with him and his team. And then the energy formula for Xyz summoning took longer than we thought. The Overlay Network function proved to be more complex than we had assumed based on the linear simplicity of Synchro energy. It was a long process. The Exhibition was three weeks away, and we had to schedule a press conference to announce RSV’s exciting new features. We had to check and adjust the installation of the RSV reactor in the arena, run tests to make sure that one worked with our prototypes. Then the Exhibition was two weeks away. We finally hashed out a time when all the Elites and the various magazines and press that were following the buildup to the Exhibition could be present to receive their new duel disk module as a big photo-op on the Monday before the Exhibition. We finally got Xyz summoning nailed in, just in time to update it in the new disk modules, on that same Monday.

By now it had been weeks since I’d even heard from Zarc. He had sent one message, some time ago, asking if Xyz monsters were ready to show him, but I had to apologetically answer that we had to delay testing. I had half-expected him to invite me to dinner again as an alternative. I would have said yes this time. But he responded simply with _I understand_ , and there was nothing more. Until finally on this Monday, with my hands under my desk at lunchtime, I sent him the update:

_The Xyz monster testing is successful._

The installation and photo-op was scheduled for eight o’clock tonight. The timing was too close. It would never work out, he was probably already busy with preparations and interviews and practice sessions at the arena. But then—

_I’ll meet you at 7:00_.

My heart leapt. I would see him again. Not just at the installation meeting, but alone, up here, and I’d get to talk to him again, and look into his warm eyes, and…

I could hardly concentrate for the rest of the work day, but it hardly mattered. My father was already preoccupied with preparing the Field lab downstairs to receive a hundred or so photographers and reporters aside from the Elites themselves and their various entourages. He probably wouldn’t even notice that I’d still be upstairs at seven o’clock.

Our administrative team was not invited to the photo-op, just my father and I and our lead engineering team, so Kari left in a jealous huff right at five o’clock without saying goodbye. Our whole department had a block of tickets reserved for the Exhibition itself, but she had been hoping to get in on the installation meeting to see the Elites up close.

I took the time to change clothes in the office bathroom, switching my usual work attire for a grey wrap dress that would look classy and professional under my brand new lab coat for the photo-op, and added a little extra makeup in case I ended up in the background of some magazine spread or other. I spent a long time staring at myself in the bathroom mirror.

_You’ve got something good right in front of you. If you want it, you just have to reach out and take it._

Kari’s words echoed as I looked into my own eyes. What did I want? A boyfriend? Not really. I’d had two boyfriends in the past and they had both been childish and demanding of my time. The first had broken up with me shortly after I’d left the professional Dueling League, saying I’d “changed.” Of course I’d changed. Everything had changed, what was I supposed to do about it? The second…well, he didn’t like that I spent so much time in the lab, absorbed in my research, trying to feel fulfilled through it. He wasn’t enough, after all. He’d told me he was tired of being second-priority under my work, tired of my constant complaining about the Real Fights. About Zarc.

But Zarc wasn’t a possibility. He was a famous, unbelievably rich celebrity who modeled for tantalizing shirtless photoshoots for the benefit of discontent housewives and could never visit a public place without getting swarmed with fans and cameras. He wasn’t anyone to plan playful dates with. He wasn’t anyone to come home to at the end of a long day and rest with, for a quiet dinner and an intimate chat. Not with Zarc, but maybe with…

I shook my head. Ridiculous.

 

At six forty-five I turned the RSV unit back on to warm up. I paced around the lab. He’d be here soon. It would be the same as before, a casual conversation, and then his Xyz dragon. A cordial goodbye, and then I could focus on installing everyone’s duel disk modules at the photo-op. That would be the end of our professional relationship, because our project was complete. The thought made me more sad than I was prepared to examine.

Absentmindedly I picked my own deck up off of my desk. It had been lying unused for a while, since I had barely been dueling at all in these past months, but I had the vague thought that I’d like to see my monsters again. I pulled my own Xyz monster out of the stack and placed it on the auxiliary module. She appeared in brilliant glory, the stars orbiting around her glowing form. I’d always felt happiness from her, radiant positivity and encouragement. It was what I needed now, but not what I received.

My Nightingale was disturbed, upset somehow. She gazed at me with concern, just as my other monster had done before, insisting on my own confusion. She reached out and touched my face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her.

She touched her fingers to my lips.

“Why can’t I understand you?” I cried out, suddenly frustrated. “Why can’t I hear your voice, like he can? I want to know you like he does with his monsters!”

Her concern deepened; I could feel it weighing in my stomach. It was like a warning. She shook her head, as if to say, _You must not.  
_

“But why?” I wanted to stomp my foot and scream, _it’s not fair!_ like a child.

The Nightingale shook her head again. She cupped my face in her hands and gazed at me with her deep, unblinking eyes. She wanted me to understand. I didn’t know what it meant. With the palms of her hands on my cheeks, she pressed her thumbs against my lips again. She shook her head one more time. And then, gently but insistently, she pushed me backward away from her and put her hands on my shoulders with a firm little shake, as though to ground me there, an arm’s length away from her.  


And then she flickered out of sight, and I was alone again. I stood on the projection plane for a while longer, lost in thought. The monsters were trying to tell me something, but she had pushed me away, insisted that I stay further away from her, accompanied by a feeling of worry, concern, warning. Not dismissal or rejection, but a sense of distance that must not be encroached.

“Are you all set up?” his voice rang out behind me. I spun around, and immediately felt my stomach flip over in shock.

I don’t know what I had expected. Perhaps I thought he’d appear like he always had these last three times, in his neat but casual button-down shirt, so I could make-believe he was someone other than the man in the posters. He was as upsettingly handsome as every magazine photo I had ever seen of him, but wearing his iconic dueling gear, just like those TV recaps and billboards. Of course he was, for the photo-op later, but the impression was striking and…horrific. I stared at him, completely lost for words. It was the man from the dueling arena, the man who broke bones and tore flesh to the delight of a tumultuous audience. I’d reminded myself a thousand times what he had done to my place in the League, plunging me into unrewarding disregard; and what he would do to his opponents. Somehow I had separated them in my mind; as though the kind man that visited me and supported my research and introduced me to his beloved dragons was a different person from the man in the arena, the real monster. But Yuusha was Zarc. He had always been Zarc.  


He walked toward me slowly, with his eyes fixed on me, but I couldn’t hold his gaze. “You look really lovely.”

In the pit of my stomach it was like nothing had ever happened, like we were back in his living room on that first evening. _I hate you. You disgust me. You ruined my father’s work, you ruined my life._ “Thank…you.”

He gazed up at me, and I thought for a moment he might ask me what was wrong, what had suddenly changed. But instead, he simply held out a card, and said only, “Please.”

I took the card without looking at it. It gave me an excuse to turn away from him.

“It took us some time to work out the Xyz summoning requirements,” I said unnecessarily, just to keep the conversation focused on the work. “This is the fourth major build of our auxiliary-reactor conversion module.”

I crossed the projection plane as he climbed up onto it, slapping the card onto theauxiliary module and barely registering the card name _Dark Rebellion Xyz Dragon._ I readied myself for some defiant, angry beast to appear and impose its wretched emotions on my heart again.

I didn’t watch as the dragon materialized, but the crash of emotion was not what I was ready for. 

A deep, overwhelming sadness. Grief, suffering, remorse.

I turned around, and saw the great dark monster with its long, smooth neck curved over Zarc’s head. A bladelike tusk protruded from its bottom jaw, bowed toward the ground as Zarc wrapped his arms around the monster’s head, as he had done before, but something was different this time. Tears started in my eyes; tears that weren’t mine. The monster was crying. Zarc was murmuring to it, “I know…I know…”

I stood there, feeling the monster’s deep sorrow, but staring at the man before me whom I both hated and adored. He kept speaking to his dragon, comforting it with soft words. It didn’t make any sense. How could one man be so kind to his monsters and yet so cruel to other humans? How could he be granted this amazing, unique gift and use it to bring so much destruction and pain?

He looked over at me, and extended his hand to take mine and introduce me to his fourth dragon. I hesitated, staring at that same gloved hand that had waved to the crowds in victory as his opponents were carried off the field on stretchers. _Don’t touch me. I hate you._

I approached the monster, averting my eyes from Zarc’s outstretched hand, until he dropped it. He looked away from me, and ran his hand instead along the dragon’s smooth neck.

“It’s sad,” I said, trying to blink back the tears that didn’t belong to me, “It’s—it’s crying.”

Zarc didn’t answer right away. He kept his hand on the monster’s curved neck as it kept its head bowed in grief. After a long pause, he said, “The people want what they want.” He had told me that before, boastingly in his tower home to dismiss my tirade at him, but now the impression was different, and his tone was somber as he went on. “We all made a vow to one another to please the crowd with our dueling, so we could keep playing together. But this world is cruel, and everyone in it, and so we have to be. We have to play along. They want to strip us down and use us, throw away whatever doesn’t suit their pleasures, just so we can have one fleeting moment of happiness.”

Finally I looked straight at him, seeing the dragon’s remorse reflected in his eyes. Again I felt like I was intruding on something deeply private, raw like an open wound.

It didn’t make any sense. Was “Zarc” really just an act? For the sake of pleasing the insatiable crowd, a facade? Could he truly be that disparate, an antithesis within himself?

I had refused his gesture, but with his hand behind the dragon’s jaw he guided its face to look at me. Instantly I felt its grief turn into wariness and distrust. It took a step back, and hissed at me. It raised its sleek head above me and stretched its mighty wings, making itself large and imposing.  
“No,” I said softly, as Zarc looked on, “You’re not really like that. You don’t have to be afraid.”  
I could feel it. Its sadness, its fear, but a deep gentleness within its heart.

The beast regarded me with its glowing golden eyes. Warm eyes. It lowered its head to point its spearlike tusk right at my throat, but I stood unflinchingly. It was not menacing or wrathful. It wouldn’t harm me.  
“You’re not like that,” I said again, “You don’t want to hurt anyone.”

I held out my hand, palm-up, offering my touch but not insisting upon it. Without even thinking, I whispered to the monster, “This world is cruel,” and even quieter still, “but not everyone in it.”

The dragon blinked, and slowly, with its wariness ebbing away, lowered its chin into my hand, flinching at my first touch, but then settling to surrender the weight of its head into my palm. I stroked its head with my other hand. It still watched me for a moment, considering me, until it raised its head again, passed its tusked jaw beside my face, and laid its head right down onto my shoulder. I drew in a surprised breath. Zarc was just watching, but standing stiffly as though he was ready to pull me away from the dragon if he sensed danger.

“It’s alright,” I said quietly, but I was sure of it. The fear I had felt within the dragon’s heart was fading away, but its sadness still remained, a longing for comfort and closeness. I stroked its long, smooth neck, just as Zarc had. The dragon nestled its head in the spot between my shoulder and my neck, and I felt its breathing steady. “He’s a good child, isn’t he? They all are.”

And then without warning, the dragon vanished. The projection was over, and the weight of the dragon’s terrible sadness dissolved with it.

I was alone with Zarc again. He was staring at me with an unreadable expression, some mixture of wonder and apprehension. The tears that I’d shed for the dragon were still on my face, and I took a moment to brush them away before I looked back at him.

“I used to think,” I said slowly, meeting his gaze and holding it, “that you were just a horrible man who did horrible things, who was just drunk on the violence addicted to applause, and there was nothing good about you.”

He was still looking at me with that unidentifiable expression. “And what do you think now?”

I took a moment to respond. I wasn’t really sure what I thought; I had never met someone so confusing, so contradictory. I took a deep breath.

“These monsters are…they’re full of _you_ , the real you—Yuusha, and they love you so, so much. I couldn’t understand how you could be like that—in the arena.”

He broke his gaze away from me.

“But that’s not really you, is it?”

I fell silent, watching him stare distantly at the surface of the projection plane, until he walked over to stand right in the center, where each of the dragons had appeared in turn.

“They’re the only home I’ve ever known,” he said quietly. His face was turned away from me and his shoulders were slack, staring down at the surface beneath his feet. “If I don’t duel, if I don’t get to be in the arena, I’ll never hear their voices so clearly. So, Supreme King Zarc lives to serve the crowd. So I can stay on top, so I can keep dueling. I’m not happy unless I’m dueling. Except…” he raised his face to look into the projector above, his face bathed in its soft white light, “Except during these visits.” He turned to look at me again, and smiled. That warm, kind, gentle smile.

My heart could swing all it wanted. It could pass infinitely back and forth between desire and disgust, attraction and aversion, back and forth, back and forth, on and on. All I had was this moment. It was all or nothing. The future was undetermined and the past didn’t matter. I didn’t know how I truly felt, but I knew what I wanted, right now in this moment. I crossed over to him, rushing with my eyes fixed on his, grabbed the front of his jacket with both of my hands, and kissed him.

At first he seemed surprised, but in barely an instant he was holding my face and kissing me back with rapturous fervor. I let go of his jacket to wrap my arms all the way around his neck. I felt feverish. I gripped his hair; he kissed harder, tugging my bottom lip with his teeth. One of his hands slipped under my lab coat to trace the curve of my back. There was a warm sensation beginning from a spot somewhere below my belly that had been cold for so long; a feeling of blossoming, of a visceral flower unfolding to welcome the sun.

There was that same incredible scent on him again, taking me back to night of that party so many months ago when he had kissed me before, when I was tipsy and confused and my mind had gone blank. But this time I was sharply alert, taking in every detail of this moment, his passion. Even the feel of him against me was intoxicating, dizzying and addictive. I wanted to tear off his jacket and run my hands over the gorgeous body I knew was beneath it. That perfect, sultry man from the magazines was kissing me, his tongue softly caressing mine, his hands cradling my face and the small of my back, breathing into me so I could finally come alive. The petals of that flower deep within me were spreading, opening, aching…

And then I laid my head against his heaving chest, slipping my arms from around his neck to embrace him around the waist, and said the first thing that fell into my mind.

“I hate you.” I felt the derisive laugh bubble up in my throat, but it was more like a sob.

He took a moment to respond. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we first met.” 

“Don’t do the Exhibition.”

I felt the breath of his unvoiced laugh in his chest. “Why?”

I raised my face to look at him, appealing, “Because you’ll—” I paused, unable to really say what I knew would happen, and amended, “You might get hurt.”

He smiled, and raised a hand to brush my hair away from my face. “You really think we’ll lose?”

I blinked. No, I really didn’t think he’d lose. He had never lost, never even gotten a scratch as long as those dragons were by his side, but the alternative was worse. He was Supreme King Zarc. Those other men didn’t stand a chance, and that meant…

I thought of the dark dragon that had stood over him and wept, just minutes ago; of the friendly scarlet monster who shuffled his feet and wanted to play, the white dragon with the glowing wings who carried me around like a lovely trophy. Even the lithe-bodied venomous serpent who only wanted to be alone with its master; none of them were truly malicious, none of their emotions were ever bloodthirsty or wrathful.

“I don’t want you to win, either.”

“It doesn’t matter. We have to win.”

“What if,” I said, choking back the lump that was rising in my throat, “What if—the violence just stopped? What if you didn’t hurt anyone? You can still win. The old way. The way it used to be.”

He stroked my cheek with the back of his gloved fingers. “It’s no use. The people want what they want, and they ask for more and more. It’s not enough just to win the game anymore. We have to win _them_ , and keep winning. We have to serve them.”

“Aren’t you the king?” I tried a smile, but it didn’t work.

“Only when they want me.”

I took a shuddering breath. “And what about what _I_ want?”

He held my gaze closely, as though trying to see into my thoughts. “What do you want?”

The lump in my throat was obstructing my voice. I laid my head back down on his chest so he wouldn’t see my face, closing my eyes to listen to the low beating of his heart. I couldn’t possibly answer him. Not when he was dressed like this, in this jacket covered in the stains of his past opponents, not when I couldn’t possibly forget who he really was.

_I want you to be someone else._

I wanted him to be someone who could be with me. I wanted him to be someone whose face didn’t both captivate and disgust me all at once and constantly cause my longing to rebound against my judgement. I wanted him to be…

“Yuusha.” It was just a breath, I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

He pulled me closer for just a moment, holding onto me as though I might suddenly dematerialize like his monsters had. It was as though we had a time limit; that a clock would strike and Yuusha would turn back into Zarc, back into the man I despised. I held onto him for as long as I could, until he slowly dropped his arms from around me.

He crossed over to the auxiliary module and lifted his card gingerly from the light plane, gazing down at it with his back to me. “Ray,” he said, without turning around, “Thank you for all of this. We—they’re so happy. They’ll be so much happier from now on.”

“Well, you made it possible,” I replied. We still had a sizable amount of his donation left in our research budget, even after all the new hiring and module builds and overtime.

He turned around and smiled at me again, slipping the card back into his pocket. He crossed back toward me, entwining my fingers with one of his hands and held my chin gently with the other. “We’ll call it a shared creation, then.” He brushed another soft kiss across my lips, and then stood up straighter. “I suppose you should meet up with everyone downstairs.”

“Why?—oh,” I mumbled, dazed. “The photo-op. Right.”

I let my fingers slide out of his hand as he jumped down from the projection plane. He walked away across the darkened lab, and was almost at the door when I called out, “Yuusha.”

He turned, waiting silently.

“I know our project is completed now,” I said quietly, “But I—I want to see you again.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” The smirk on his face was only betrayed by the softness in his eyes. He was waiting for my answer, my honest, unguarded answer.

“No,” I said. “But I don’t care. I want to. But…” I hesitated, looking down across the room at his expectant, half-lit face. “Don’t do the Exhibition.”

He took a breath, and the knowing smirk faded from his face. He looked from me, standing on the projection plane, up to the projector above me, and then back onto my face, as though he wanted to say something. But he simply nodded in some internal understanding, left me with a thin-lipped smile, and I stood alone in the lab once again with the warmth of his touch still lingering on my skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guuuuuurl
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter 8: Camellia
> 
> In preparation for the upcoming Exhibition match, Leo and Ray install the updated module into the Elites' duel disks. Afterward, Leo notices something strange about the system's new features.


	8. Camellia

I fixed my makeup in the bathroom again, giving myself twenty minutes to calm down before I had to act professional and pretend like nothing had happened, even though my heart was racing and my whole body felt hot. I took the elevator down to the old Field Lab where our department used to be, before Zarc had changed everything for us.

I closed my eyes on the ride downward, trying to distill every sensation from that intimate moment in the lab and contain it all before it floated away. I wanted to save those feelings and relive them, hold them up to the light and admire them, even if it was just one little moment.

The Field Lab was already milling with people; a few members of the invited press were taking candid shots of the preparations and the room at large, the board of directors seated at a long table in front of the Field, perusing the photo-op lineup on their papers. Our research team with my father in the corner of the room, arranging our finished equipment in their foam-lined cases on another table. The directors and our research team, including myself, were all wearing embossed name tags featuring the company’s logo, but the invited press wore laminated badges on lanyards to show that they had been granted access into the room. There were a few policemen lined around the doors, for added security just in case any conflicts broke out.

The Field itself was dormant, given that the RSV reactor beneath it was turned off, so the logistics team had arranged its fiberglass floor like a stage with chairs for the Elites to sit in while my father and I installed the new auxiliary module into their disks.

“Everything alright, Father?” I said as I reached the table. He turned around to look at me, his brow shining with nervous sweat. I reached into the lapel pocket of his lab coat and pulled out his handkerchief to dab at it. He smiled graciously.

“It looks like we’re ready,” he said, “They want to get photos of the development team, and then the Elites, and then the installation process for each of them individually with our department head. And now,” he looked suddenly grave, placing his hand on my shoulder, “I know you and I are co-heads of the department, and your wonderful networking brought us that donation to make this possible, and your intuitive ideas that led all our tests to such success, but I want you to let me do the installations. I don’t want you anywhere near these men.”

I didn’t have any reason to protest. The Elites were ruthless and notoriously debaucherous. I didn’t blame my father for being overprotective, as though I’d somehow be violated just from standing next to any of them.

More press filled into the room, striking up quick interviews with the Board of Directors and pushing over to photograph the table of new equipment to be installed.  


“Professor Leo Akaba, right?” A reporter with a cameraman had shouldered his way toward us, “I’m a reporter with _Duelist_ magazine. I understand you’re the head of this new department? Do you have time for a quick interview?”

“Fine, fine,” my father replied.  


The reporter launched immediately into his list of questions. “You’re heavily credited for applying Real SolidVision into the game of Duel Monsters several years ago. How has that shaped your career?”

“Ah—” Father cleared his throat. I knew what he really wanted to say. The game became a violent spectacle, and he had been forced to continue working and perfecting the system that allowed so many atrocities to take place. “I never expected the impact of Real SolidVision to be quite so popular,” he replied diplomatically. “We expect the system’s technology to take great strides in the future.”  


“Yes, yes. And your department was restructured just to make this big change to the Duel Disk system, is that right?”

“Yes,” Father replied, “in fact—” he reached out and put his arm around me, and suddenly his stiff air turned into one of genuine pride, “—my daughter, Ray, was the real head of this project. She and I shared all of the top research and testing work on this new device. Her youthful ingenuity made this all possible.” He looked down at me, and his face was glowing. I smiled up at him.  
  
“Ah, Akaba Ray, of course!” the reporter said excitedly. Father pulled me in for a one-armed hug as the cameraman snapped a series of photographs. “Would you say she’s the future of your department?”

“Absolutely,” my father said, “She is my protégée, and I couldn’t be prouder. When I retire I will have full confidence in her taking my place.”

I blushed, and couldn’t help but smile as he squeezed my shoulder again and the cameraman snapped another burst of photos.

“Excuse me, ’scuse—” a second photographer appeared, shoving roughly past the _Duelist_ reporter and his associate cameraman, and reached out to grab my elbow. “The lighting is better over here—” and he dragged me away from my father without even introducing himself. He put his hands on my shoulders to twist me into some position as he mumbled “looks better this way” and started snapping blinding photographs of my face. He was distinctly sweaty.

My father crossed over to us, most likely noticing how uncomfortable I clearly was, and said, “Pardon me?” as he drew me slowly away from the stranger.

The photographer yanked up his lanyard to push his access badge right in my father’s face, but before he had a chance to say his name or what press he came from, we were all distracted by the sudden flurry activity across the room.

An excited murmur started from the doorway to the lab and the press all swarmed toward the door, the cameras snapping endlessly. It was Jericho, also wearing his signature Real Fight gear, accompanied by his manager and a bodyguard. The manager looked grim, and pushed cameras out of the way as he led Jericho toward the front of the room, as Jericho himself waved and smirked for the excited press. The three of them disappeared into a group of reporters, the manager shouting for order as they all tried to approach Jericho at once. The photographer that had shoved his camera in my face left me immediately, and I watched him push several other reporters aside to get closer to Jericho.

“I think his badge said he was a tabloid photographer,” my father said, “Very rude. I’ll get his name later to complain.”

Diesel, Flintlock, and Rugen all entered separately, but the same process repeated as the crowd of reporters swarmed back and forth across the room to capture photographs and comments from the new arrivals. Eventually the press spread out and mingled between them, snapping photos and asking questions. Rugen was, as always, flanked by his two girlfriends—were they the same women as before?—and made some ostentatious show of kissing each of them vigorously for the cameras until the reporter from _Duelist_ who had interviewed him before stepped forward to ask him some questions.

“Rugen, plenty of our readers have named you as the favorite to defeat Zarc and win this competition,” the reporter said, “What would you say to that?”

“I’d say it’s hardly a competition,” Rugen replied with a swagger. “Zarc is long overdue for his trip to hell and I’m looking forward to sending him there.”

A feeling of unpleasant heaviness sank into my stomach. Barely half an hour ago Zarc had assured me he wouldn’t lose, but the possibility that he could end up gravely injured by one of these other duelists was still very real. I moved away from them, trying to shut out any more of Rugen’s pompous descriptions of what he was planning to do to Zarc in the arena.

“All right, all right, settle down everyone. We’re about to begin,” Shino Kouta, the official from the arena, stood up in front of the press crowd. He must have been appointed to lead the photo-op, hosting the press as he would the Exhibition itself. “Can we get the Research and Development Department all assembled on the Field stage? Yes, line up, please…”

Our team shuffled around awkwardly onto the raised Field as Shino rearranged our positions by height, but insisted that my father and I stand in the center. I plastered a smile on my face as we stood stiffly for several minutes, blinded by the camera flashes and waiting for someone to say it was time to stop. I noticed that same sweaty photographer that had rudely dragged me aside for photos earlier shove his way past some official press reporters to get to the front of the crowd for a better angle. When they finally wrapped it up with us and I let out my breath, and our research team filed to the back of the room.

“Yes, can we have the Elites, please? We’ll do some photos before the installations,” Shino called out, “Each of you in turn, please. Jericho—”

Each of the Elites had their turn on the Field stage to pose for photographs and take a few questions from the crowd of reporters. It was all the same, each of them insisting that taking Zarc down would be a piece of cake and that they’d certainly be the one to reign as the next Champion. Rugen was last, looking strangely diminished without his flank of girlfriends, but he was good with the cameras. His custom-designed dueling gear made him look bulky and dangerous. He might have even been a little taller than Zarc, but not nearly as effortlessly handsome.

But about halfway through Rugen’s photo session, another excited flurry began to run through the crowd, and photographers and reporters peeled off the back of the group to rush to the door. Soon the entire crowd had turned their backs on Rugen, leaving him standing foolishly alone on the Field stage with no one taking photos of him at all.

“Zarc! Zarc is here!” the crowd cheered excitedly, “Zarc, over here! Please, just for a moment! Will you answer some questions, please?”

Zarc moved through the crowd as it parted to let him through, and I felt that same spot under my belly ache with warmth as the memory of our kiss flooded back into my mind. My heart started to pound again, so heavily that I was afraid my father could hear it as he stood beside me. He ignored the questions from the reporters and ascended the steps onto the Field stage, where Rugen was still standing with a twisted countenance that made no effort to disguise his bitterness. I was right; Rugen was a little taller than Zarc, but somehow it made no difference in how unimpressive he looked now that Zarc was here.

Shino shook Zarc’s hand and welcomed him animatedly to this press event. “Thank you for being here, Supreme King, it’s an honor.”

Zarc nodded, and even his bored, disengaged demeanor seemed to captivate the attention of the entire room, like his disdain was part of his charisma. Somehow it worked perfectly, given Zarc’s reputation for impressive spectacle, that even his nonchalance was fascinating to the crowd. The cameras flashed without ceasing and reporters cried out imploringly for Zarc to take a few moments to appease them.

“Some photos, I think?” Shino asked, and the gaggle of press clapped as Zarc gave them a gracious smile, suddenly quite the opposite of his bored expression. Shino looked over his shoulder, right around at me, and winked.

No one even noticed Rugen leave the platform, but he returned to the group of Elites by the wall with his face livid with rage and jealousy that Zarc had stolen his spotlight. Zarc’s photo session went on longer than any of the other Elites’ had, and the constant questions from the press was an indiscernible jumble of noise. I glanced up at my father beside me, whose face held nothing but disgust and hatred as he watched Zarc pander to the cameras.  


“Shall we begin the installations?” Shino finally called out, and my father moved forward into the limelight. “The installations will be conducted by Professor Akaba Leo, the head of the Special Projects Division of the Real SolidVision Research and Development Department. Professor, if you will?”

“Ah—yes,” my father said, clearing his throat stiffly. “We have built this new addition to the duel disk, which we have named the auxiliary reactor-conversion device. Its purpose is to enhance the battery capabilities of the duel disk and sustain the summoning of monsters without the full reliance on the Real SolidVision reactor below the Field. A chip will be inserted into the main disk unit to run the driver, updating the disk’s operating system to accept the auxiliary module installation. After the update, the auxiliary module itself will be plugged into the main disk unit with an adapter, and would enhance the power output of the disk’s internal battery. We believe that the auxiliary reactor-conversion device represents the future of Real SolidVision’s capabilities.”

Shino invited Flintlock back onto the Field stage to have his disk updated first. The update took a few minutes, so in the process Shino went through interview questions for Flintlock. “Do you feel confident that you will win this Exhibition? How do you anticipate your strategies will thrill the crowd? Any hints at the trump cards up your sleeve?” 

Father finished with Flintlock and moved on to Jericho. Across the Field stage I saw Rugen, with his girlfriends reattached to his arms, hissing some inaudible insults at Zarc. Zarc was smirking with his arms folded, leaning against the wall.

Shino interviewed each Elite separately while my father completed the installation process on their disks. Rugen himself was a more awkward encounter, as he insisted that his girlfriends should come up with him and be interviewed as well. Father had to request that one of them let go of his left arm so he could install the auxiliary module. And then finally—

“Supreme King Zarc, of course,” Shino called out, and Zarc stepped forward to sit in the chair that the other Elites had occupied while their disks were updated, and the crowd of reporters broke into an excited murmur and shuffled tighter together to get a better angle on him. My father’s jaw was set as he regarded Zarc; I knew he was grinding his teeth. In the years after Zarc rose to Champion, my father had ground his teeth so much he would get piercing headaches. 

Father approached Zarc with the case containing the last auxiliary module, holding it as though he was about to beat Zarc over the head with it.

“Ah, hmm—” Shino said suddenly, stepping forward to passively block my father from Zarc. “Let’s have someone else do it this time, do you mind? A different face, perhaps—” he looked across the room, directly at me, “ _Miss_ Akaba, won’t you please?”

But of course. Shino had sent my invitation to the Stardust party on Zarc’s demand. Shino knew that Zarc held some level of preference for me, and he was trying to impress Zarc again by making me look important. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Jericho point at me and whisper something to his manager, who then nodded. So, they recognized me too.

“I would prefer it if I—” my father began aggressively, but Shino cut him off, already hurrying forward to pull me up to the front of the room.  


“Nonsense, nonsense! She knows the process just as well as you, doesn’t she? It’s only fitting. Makes for a much more, ah, _attractive_ photo, you understand.”

My father stared in horror as Shino positioned me right next to Zarc’s chair, but he couldn’t protest further in front of all these cameras. He handed me the case, and stepped back to stand right behind me, still grinding his teeth.

I opened the case gingerly and took out the data chip, and carefully inserted it into Zarc’s disk. My hands were shaking slightly.

In a low voice, Zarc said, “You better know what you’re doing, girl.”

I bit my lip and grimaced to keep from laughing.

Shino asked Zarc questions as I worked through the installation process on his disk. I tuned it all out, trying not to think about how good he smelled when I was this close to him, or about wanting to press my forehead against his shoulder. All the answers were formulaic and practiced, feigned grandeur, with none of the raw honesty he’d displayed to me in the upstairs lab barely an hour ago.

“How have you prepared to take on all four Elites one right after the other? Do you think it will be strenuous? Are you anticipating a loss?”

The crowd of reporters actually chuckled at Shino’s last question as Zarc flashed an indulgent grin. I took the opportunity to glance again at the other Elites, now looking positively murderous. Well, they’d get their chance to try soon. 

“The structure is simple,” Zarc explained coolly. “ _If_ I should lose before all four of them have had their shot at me, the remaining Elites will duel the winner. Only one of us can win, after all.”

My fingers paused on his duel disk as I processed this information. So only one of them would walk away. All five Elites, down to one decisive winner. Four unoccupied seats. I looked up again at the other Elites, and it was plain by their expression that this was a new piece of information to them as well. Had they not been told that only one of the five of them would walk away from the Exhibition? That if Zarc fell, they’d be pitted against one another until only one was left? Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rugen take a step further away from Diesel. Perhaps they’d been talking to one another, sharing strategies on how to defeat him, without knowing they might become opponents before the end as well.

The software update completed, and I gently slid my hand under Zarc’s wrist, turning his arm so I could fix the module to the other side of his wrist. The cameras were still flashing in our direction, but I kept my eyes downcast, plugging the small adapter unit into the side of the main console.

“You’ve typically kept your private life out of the spotlight,” Shino continued to Zarc with a buttery tone, “But tell us—perhaps for your _fairer_ devotees—is there anyone special you think about while you’re dueling? Anyone _particularly_ worried about your well-being in the danger of this Exhibition match?”

Zarc hesitated for a moment, and I felt his wrist flex under my hand. I hoped to the heavens that my heavier layer of makeup would mask my blush, but I resisted the urge to move my hand just a few inches further and thread my fingers between his.

“If I am enough for my fans,” he said slowly, “They are enough for me.”

The crowd let out a collective gratified sigh and another flurry of camera flashes. I thought I heard my father actually scoff right behind me.

The auxiliary module blinked to indicate that the connection was successful, so I dropped Zarc’s wrist unceremoniously to step back and stand next to my father. Zarc stood up without acknowledging me at all.

“All done then?” Shino said, appealing to me and Father. “Yes, well—perhaps a few more photos with all the Elites? Thank you, Professor, we at the arena are positively thrilled to employ your new technology. We’ll see you this weekend?”

“All week, I suspect,” my father replied, “We’ll be running tests of the module in the arena itself. There should have been a memo out to your maintenance team to expect us.”

“Of course, of course,” Shino nodded vigorously. “I’ll be in board meetings and overseeing the PR. I don’t get into the lower levels much, you see…” He trailed off, and was quickly pulled away by the team of _Duelist_ reporters to answer questions from the arena’s perspective.

The Elites stepped off the Field platform to mingle in with the press again for more photos and interview questions. A crowd immediately formed around Zarc, bustling for a proper angle or an opportunity to ask another question.

I wouldn’t have even seen what happened if I hadn’t been watching closely. Zarc was moving toward the door, where the policemen stood guard, followed by a crowd of press. But then, that same photographer—the rude, sweaty one that had pulled me aside without asking earlier—forced his way past the crowd behind Zarc, reached his hand out and grabbed a fistful of the front of Zarc’s jacket to snap a closeup photo of his face.

Zarc’s face twisted instantly from his relaxed, ingratiating expression to one of sudden rage and horror, and in a swift motion—I barely even saw the movement—he gripped the man by the upper arm, dug his shoulder into his chest, and flung him with so much excessive force that the photographer flew several feet across the room and slammed bodily against the wall. His camera completely shattered, tiny pieces of glass littering the floor where he slumped limply with his eyes half-shut in a daze.

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then the cameras around Zarc started flashing again, snatches of cheering and laughing and clapping at the surprise spectacle Zarc had offered them. Zarc took a moment to compose himself, but perhaps because I knew him better now, I could tell he was still shaken. He smirked again as people applauded. One of the policemen by the door stepped forward toward Zarc, and for a moment I expected him to reprimand Zarc for using so much force, or even to hold him back to ask him questions about the altercation. But the policeman smiled nervously and held out a magazine, another past copy of _Duelist_ that featured Zarc on the cover, and a marker. He was just asking for an autograph.

Zarc pushed past the policeman, completely ignoring the request, and broke free of the crowd of press to leave the room without another word.

I felt the urge to go after him, to see if I could find a quiet corner with him and help him calm down, but Father put his arm around me. “It’s late,” he said, “But let’s get some dinner. We’ve been working all day.”

I nodded, and we left the Field Lab together, as Father led us out the back door, into a different hallway from where Zarc would be.

 

Father and I had a favorite late-night pub for evenings like this, when we had worked so late. It wasn’t classy or business-casual, just a haunt with a smoky atmosphere, quiet enough for us to have a conversation. We always ordered the same meals, and it was the only place my father would ever drink a beer. I was always pleased when he would suggest we eat here, because it meant he could relax, get away from the lab or his brooding home office that reminded him of the terrible turn of events his own work had created. It had weighed on him for years now.

We ordered the usual, he had his hamburger steak and I had my stew, sloppily presented on chipped plates but delicious and comforting as always. 

Father emptied half his beer in one draft and set the glass on the table so firmly that a bit of liquid splashed onto the table. “Those men should be in prison.”

I stared down at my food, unprepared for this sudden outburst.

“Instead they get cheers and press coverage and thousands of crooning fans like the world’s been turned on its head. Criminal brutality is praised and admired, the worst of them get the most of the glory…”

I was surprised to hear him rant like this. He always kept his head down, ashamed but silent, that to hear him openly fuming about the Real Fights was unprecedented. But then the real reason behind his sudden outburst came to the surface.

“And they pulled _you_ in like some kind of show prop, to make for some more _attractive photos_ next to that—that—” He struggled with his word for a moment, until finally landing on— “ _monster_ —”

My hand twitched convulsively and dropped my bite of food on the table.

“—as if you deserved to be associated anywhere near that cruel, sadistic, brutal, violent—”

Kind, warm, gentle, passionate—

“— _demon_ who turned a card game into a blood sport. Having to watch you near him made my stomach turn. If I could have dragged you away from him without making a scene, I would have.”

“I was okay,” I said, shoveling stew into my mouth to avoid having to answer further. I chewed, letting myself process a response. I could confess everything. I could tell him about that night I broke into Zarc’s living room to berate him for the sake of my father, and how that had sparked the series of events that had led my father and me here at all. The Stardust party, the huge department donation, the secret meetings, the kisses…

No. I couldn’t. It was the gravest betrayal, that the person he most hated had not only provided every penny of his salary for the past several months but also snatched his daughter’s affection in the process. And god, was I ever the worst daughter to my kind, well-meaning father, who would never in his life deserve that kind of humiliation.

“You even saw that policeman, didn’t you? Too star-struck to even care that Zarc assaulted that photographer.”

“That was the same man who dragged me around before,” I said, “The one you said was being rude.”

To everyone else in the room, it might have seemed like Zarc had used the opportunity to put on a show of his usual savagery, or that his excessive force was simply embedded in his character, but I knew better. I knew what precious things he kept in the inner pocket of that jacket, right where that photographer had grabbed ahold of him. He had panicked, that was all.

“And Zarc might have given him a concussion,” Father spat, “The man has no decency, and no one is going to put him in his place. The Exhibition this weekend is going to be a mess.”

“Kari thinks he might lose,” I said, “She says he might get tired and make a mistake.”

Father scowled. “And that would end him?”

“One of the others would take his place,” I replied, “But yes.”

Father laughed bitterly. “As if those four are any better. But if anyone overthrows the ‘Supreme King’ it could be the beginning of the end for the whole horrible game. I’ll pray for it.”

“The game isn’t horrible,” I said.

“It’s corrupted. What is done cannot be undone. The audience prefers the cruelty and violence, it’s only going to get worse. There’s no force of nature that can change the will of humanity. We’re simply born that way, perverse and barbaric…and it’s my fault, it’s all my fault, I developed that wretched machine…”

_The world is cruel, and everyone in it._

It was the same thing Zarc had said, wasn’t it? That it was human nature to be vicious and callous, and that to succeed meant to push away all thoughts of remorse and empathy and think only of winning. He had found his way to survive in this cruel world by becoming it, leading it and staying ahead.  


I reached across the table to lay my hand on my father’s forearm and he looked up at me. He looked so much older here in the dim lighting of the pub. 

“There’s good _and_ evil, Father,” I said, squeezing his arm in reassurance. “There’s good and bad inside everyone. That’s what makes us human, right?”

His face relaxed into a tired smile. “I refuse to believe there’s any evil in you.” 

I managed a tight-lipped smile back as my stomach twisted in guilt, thinking about the traitorous heat that had flourished in my body as I kissed the man who had caused my own father’s misery. _If only that were true…_

“—Nor is there any good in that man. He’s empty inside.”

I lowered my eyes again as my father went back to his meal, and we spent several moments in silence. I once had thought the same, that Zarc was an unfeeling savage—but those dragons weren’t empty inside; they were bursting, overflowing with glorious feeling, and despite my father’s bitter diatribe I had begun to believe what Zarc had said on one of our previous meetings: _They can only have what we give them._ There had never been a duelist who had managed to do what he’d done—to coax so much life into his dragons that they were real all but for that final boundary between our world and the cards. He was hardly empty inside; he was all at once profound and depraved, a wonderful soul turned foul by the clawing desires of his own audience.

“So when do I get to meet him?”

I jumped and stared across the table at my Father as a fierce blush flooded into my face. He had that sneaky smile on his face that he always had when he had figured out one of my secrets.

“Wh—what—” I stammered, a thousand possible responses, excuses, derailments running through my head, but ultimately I just landed on, “Who?”

“The boy that’s been making you smile lately,” Father responded with a knowing wink. “You always used to look glum after you had to stop dueling, but in the past months I’ve seen you smiling to yourself. It’s a boy, isn’t it? I know it’s embarrassing to talk about this with your old father, but…Well, if you’re not ready to introduce him to me, I’ll wait. I’m just glad to see you so happy.”

“It’s not—” I mumbled, casting around for something to end the conversation before I spilled out all the confusing and guilty feelings I felt for the man my father most hated in the world, “It’s just nice to work on a new project. That’s all.”

“Right,” he replied, still with that sneaky smile, “But the project didn’t send you those flowers back then.”

“It’s nothing,” I insisted.

I made to go back to eating my stew, but he reached both of his hands across the table to hold my face.

“I love it when you smile,” he said, stroking my cheek with his thumb, “You’re my treasure. I know a lot has changed, I know you were angry at me, but I was just trying to protect you. If there’s—if there’s someone who is making you smile, that’s all that matters to me. I love you.”

“I love you too, Father,” I said, blinking back the tears that were starting in my eyes. It pained me to see him torment himself over making me unhappy. I knew it wasn’t his fault—I knew I wouldn’t have been safe in the Real Fights, and I knew he’d never meant his invention to lead to violence and depravity.

And yet even in defiance of my poor father’s suffering, I was dying to see Zarc again.

After I’d finished my meal, the waiter came by to collect our plates, and on a whim I ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake for dessert.

 

On Friday morning Kari burst into the lab, waving a magazine above her hair so quickly I could hardly see it.

“They did a rush printing for this weekend!” she screeched, “And _wait till you see—_!”

She slapped the magazine on my desk so hard that I had to grab my cup of tea to keep it from toppling over.

Of course, it was _Duelist_ , with the cover featuring all five of this weekend’s Exhibition duelists from our photo-op on Monday. _ONLY ONE WILL STAND VICTORIOUS_.

“Good,” I said, not particularly interested in rereading some blustery version of the event I had already been at, detailing what Rugen’s girlfriends were wearing and the same insipid interview responses the men had given to Shino’s questions. “I guess I’ll read it on my lunch? Thanks…”

I tried to slide the magazine to the edge of my desk so I could finish sorting my data entry sheets.

“ _Ray,_ you don’t _understand,_ ” Kari huffed, and immediately clawed the magazine open, riffling to a page near the middle, and jammed her finger down on one of the photos.

I blinked, and it took me a moment to even realize what I was looking at, until my stomach flipped over.

They had printed a photo of Zarc and me, one of the ones taken while I was installing the new auxiliary module into his duel disk. My eyes were downcast and my face was passive—had they doctored the photo? I hadn’t been wearing that much mascara—holding his wrist and forearm to attach the adapter. He was looking down at me with a soft, blank expression.

“Oh no,” I breathed. It was innocuous enough, but I felt like this image had captured something strangely private. The caption under the photo beside the main article read _Akaba Ray, debutante Research Engineer for Real SolidVision, updates Zarc’s duel disk for the upcoming Exhibition._ “‘Debutante’? Am I a sixteen-year-old in a beauty pageant?” I stared down at the photo, trying to see if there was any hint of the misbehavior between us betrayed in the photo.

“He’s looking right at you,” said Kari, “he usually looks at the camera in the rest of the photos.”

This was true. Even in the few magazines and tabloid photos I’d seen of Zarc, I couldn’t recall a photo of him looking at another person. More curious still was the somewhat blank expression on his face; as though he’d dropped his pretense for just a moment, slid off the smirk and the prideful, intimidating manner just in this instant when he’d let his eyes fall on the side of my face. I’d just kissed him about hour before this photo was taken…could he have been thinking about…

I hadn’t told her about what had happened on Monday evening, when I’d thrown out all caution and pretense and wrapped myself around Zarc like he was all I wanted in the world. I wanted to keep that moment for myself, and it was none of her business. And neither was the fact that the desire to see him and kiss him and _feel_ him again had not ebbed away all week. I’d told him I wanted to see him again but we hadn’t made any promises, I couldn’t hope for anything. But I’d be lying to say I hadn’t been dreaming about it—about _him_ , his perfect physique, the touch of his hands on me, the weight of his body, the ache reignited within me that needed to be appeased.

“You can have this back,” I thrust the magazine back at Kari, turning away to look at my computer to try to drain the heat out of my face.

“That’s yours,” she said, “I got another copy. There’s a cute photo of you and your dad, too.”

She left, and after the lab door had swung shut, I opened the magazine back up again to see what she meant. I found the page with the photo of Zarc and myself, and then flipped to one page previous—and there it was. It was a quarter-page photo from the moment when my father had told the _Duelist_ reporter how proud of me he was. Father was hugging me to his side with a glowing expression, and even I had a genuine smile on my face. I smiled down at the photo, and without a second thought fished a pair of scissors out of my desk, clipped the photo right out of the magazine, and pinned it to my cubicle wall.

I was a terrible daughter.

My father reentered the lab, holding a stack of what looked like old books. In fact, they looked very much like some dusty old textbooks that had sat untouched on the bookshelf in his home office for years. Balanced on top of the books was a potted plant, a camellia.

“What’s all that?” I asked, recognizing the top volume in his stack as the second-edition copy of _Equivalence and Spacetime_ by Douglas Giancoppi that my father had read excerpts from after dinnertime when I was twelve. I’d never really understood it, but I remembered the calming sound of his voice and the look of fascination in his eyes when he’d read those passages.

He set the stack of books down on his desk and looked around at me with a sheepish expression behind his glasses.

“I have to confess something.”

I folded my arms and teased an exasperated expression at him. “Oh really?”

“I’ve been tinkering,” he said, and patted the stack of books as he would the shoulder of a good friend.

I laughed a little. “What would the Professor be without his experiments?”

“Yes, well,” he adjusted his glasses, and I recognized that look of intrepid excitement that he put on whenever he was on the cusp of a real discovery, “I’ve noticed something a bit interesting about our latest equations. The idea of separating some of the energy burden onto an auxiliary module might have revealed something unexpected.”

“You think so?”

“You see,” he went on, “We’ve adjusted the system to sustain objects with mass by converting it from electrical energy, and now thanks to you the process is partially contained inside the duel disk. It’s quite a breakthrough, using that auxiliary module to convert energy into mass.”

“What are you getting at?”

Father picked up the potted camellia and said, “Let me show you something.”

I watched him, bemused, as he climbed onto the projection plane and set the camellia right in the middle, under the light beaming down from the projector. He stepped back toward the table that held the auxiliary module, and the computer screen that ran and recorded its functions.

“We’ve been converting energy into mass,” he was saying, “But then I thought, the equation will balance both ways. Perhaps this build, with its advanced functions—perhaps it would work in reverse.”

“Converting mass into energy?” I concluded, “So what purpose would that serve?”

“All sorts,” he said, and I heard the excitement rise in his voice, “Come here, stand right here.”

I moved to stand next to him, where I could see the potted flower and the energy readings from the machine at once. The energy output of the main RSV reactor was at fifty-seven percent, and the auxiliary module was holding at forty-three. He typed a new string of functions into the command bar on the monitor, and I heard the RSV reactor change pitch as the machine hummed at a new frequency. 

“I made a few small modifications after we’d finished the builds that were attached to the Elites’ disks, so obviously those won’t carry this function, but it wasn’t a difficult step to rearrange the process. Set the commands in reverse,” he said, mostly to himself, “And—”

A beam of bright violet light issued from the projector above the potted flower. I shielded my eyes for a moment, until the light closed off and I blinked at the projection plane.

“It’s gone!” I exclaimed, and sure enough, the potted plant had vanished from the platform.

“That’s not all!” My father said excitedly, and pointed at the monitor that tracked the energy capacities. The main RSV reactor was still at fifty-seven percent energy output, but the reading from the auxiliary module, the new unit we’d developed through our past months of testing and research, was now reading at forty-three point six percent.

“It _gained_ energy?” I said in quiet wonderment, “But that means the system as a whole is point six percent over capacity…”

“I determined that if we can project massive structures out of pure energy, we could also convert existing mass into new energy,” my father explained, “Everything represents a certain amount of energy, when you apply it to our mathematical constant. That potted plant’s molecular structure, its photosynthetic functions—everything has been broken down into its pure potential energy and the machine can use it.”

I stared at the empty platform. “It can turn matter into energy.”

“Only organic matter,” my father explained, “I tried using other objects—office supplies, furniture—but it had no effect. It only takes in organic material that is still processing its life functions. Living things. It’s as though the potential energy of a living organic substance is transferred into the machine—still alive, but broken down into its pure energy and ready to be used to power something else.”

“And it’s being stored in the disk,” I murmured.

My father nodded slowly. “Yes—the module, with these modifications, is storing the energy that used to be that plant. Imagine if that were expanded to a much larger system; the portable auxiliary module could gather and store energy collected from mass, and pile it up in a larger container to be used for another purpose…let’s say, an Absorption and Reconstitution Converter—ah, then we can use the same acronym as before—then we could breach an infinite number of possibilities. We could restructure practically anything. We could—”

The RSV reactor changed pitch, signaling another frequency change, and the violet light flickered on the projection plane. My father and I both blinked at the middle of the platform, where the potted camellia had reappeared, looking quite the same as it had before it had been absorbed into the machine. The energy readings on the auxiliary module dropped back down to forty-three percent.

I sighed, and climbed onto the platform to retrieve the camellia. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I said with a small smile. “We’re focusing on Duel Monsters right now. If the new auxiliary device is received well at the Exhibition tomorrow, you can tinker all you want with the next build. You can restructure the whole universe all you like.” I smirked and stepped down, carrying the potted flower in my arm. “But if you want to use our research to absorb and repurpose energy from living things, it’ll take a lot more stabilization testing to get it to function properly.”

Father smiled, and I saw the weariness sneak out from the lines in his face. “I’ve gotten distracted, I’m sorry. I’ll be at the Arena for the rest of the day but I’d like you to stay here and generate those data graphs from the Field Lab so we can compare our tests to the readings from the duels tomorrow.”

I nodded. “I’ll head down to the Field Lab to grab that data, it should have finished generating by now.”

I left him in the lab, still carrying the potted camellia and thinking I might put it downstairs to brighten the place up. I took the elevator, and stood in silence, considering what new project my father might launch on after this Exhibition tomorrow was over.

A soft chime issued from the DDC in my pocket. I snatched it up as my stomach flooded with excitement and any thought of my previous conversation flew right out the back of my head.

_I want to show you something._

A sudden shock of excitement bolted through me, but before I could gather myself to reply, he sent another message.

_I’m holding a private celebration this evening at my home. 9:00. Will you come?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a clunky chapter, but it is what it is in order to cover the ground it needs to.
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter 9: Heartbeat


	9. Heartbeat

 

> _When I was a child, I heard voices._
> 
> _Some would sing and some would scream._
> 
> _You soon find you have few choices,_
> 
> _I learned the voices died with me._
> 
> _…_
> 
> _When I was a man, I thought it ended_
> 
> _When I knew love's perfect ache._
> 
> _But my peace has always depended_
> 
> _On all the ashes in my wake._
> 
>  
> 
> _All you have is your fire,_
> 
> _And the place you need to reach._
> 
> _Don't you ever tame your demons_
> 
> _But always keep 'em on a leash._

 

— Hozier, “Arsonist’s Lullabye”

* * *

 

_I’m holding a private celebration this evening at my home. 9:00. Will you come?_

The initial swoop of my stomach sank upon reading his message over again. A celebration at his home? I had told him I wanted to see him again, but I didn’t mean surrounded by other people where he’d have to keep his intimidating pretense up and ignore me like he had at the Stardust gala or the photo-op on Monday. Still, he had thought to invite me, and I supposed that meant he really wanted me to be there even if he’d have to feign disregard. Nine o’clock was late; he must be busy all day. He didn’t even have time to organize proper invitations.

_Yes, I’d be happy to,_ I replied. It was best not to seem too eager, or to betray how disappointed I felt. 

_I’ll send a car at 8:45._

His home was certainly spacious enough for entertaining a crowd, massive and ballroom-sized with a gorgeous view of the city, but it seemed out of character. Zarc was an entertainer on the arena stage, but I had been carrying the impression that he was peculiarly diffident when he was out of the limelight, not one to host company. What other guests, I wondered? Shino, perhaps—he was the only person I could think of with whom Zarc had ever had so much as a private conversation. Maybe some other officials from the arena, or his agents and sponsors from earlier in his time in the Pro League. Tomorrow was the pinnacle of his career, after all; either he would solidify his position of Champion permanently after defeating all the other Elites, or he’d lose everything. A private reception seemed appropriate.

I retrieved the data I needed from the Field Lab downstairs and made my way back up to my desk on the higher floor. I let myself sink into my thoughts, building the graphs comparing the energy output we’d recorded from the RSV tests downstairs to the ones at the arena throughout the week. Everything was stable with our new auxiliary module builds, it should run perfectly tomorrow. Father would be at the arena well into the evening, filling out the final paperwork and talking to the engineering staff there about the schedule for future tweaks and updates to the larger machine.

But it was hard to concentrate. What should I wear? It would be embarrassing to wear the same old thing I’d worn to the Stardust party in case anyone remembered me, after all. It needed to be something sexy and feminine, something that told him I was there for his attention. I had that draped pink sheath dress I’d bought for Kari’s engagement party, still in its plastic in my closet at home. Yes, that would do. 

Before he’d left, Father had insisted that I had been working too hard and should go home rather than back to the Aether Arena for the final inspections today. He wouldn’t even notice I was gone. Other than those inspections, there was very little to do around the lab and the office. I finished my graphing and took an early lunch, covertly listening to Kari’s phone conversation with her aunt about their speculations for tomorrow’s Exhibition.

“I think Flintlock won’t last long—I mean, he’s the newest Elite, he doesn’t have the experience the others do…No, no, they choose by lottery. It was in the magazine this morning. They don’t even know who will go first, it’ll be randomly selected right before they start…Yeah…oh, you mean Ray? She’s my boss…no, I don’t think so, they just had her install the new unit thingy our lab made in his disk and they just took a candid photo, I don’t think she’d met him before or anything. So anyway, about the wedding…” I breathed a sigh of relief. So Kari wasstill keeping her word about not revealing what she knew about Zarc and me, at least for now.

I left the office early at the end of the day. The few admin staff and the researchers that were here instead of at the arena were too excited about tomorrow to get anything done anyway, and I thought I should wash up before having to interact with high-profile socialites at this evening’s party. I’d already given Kari permission to leave; she was annoyed that Danny had been too busy coordinating his driving services all day because of the preparations for the Exhibition to take her out to dinner, and I figured it was better to let her go home than to keep her here with nothing to do. Their party had been delayed because she and Danny had been arguing about her aunt singing at the wedding.

Leaving early gave me extra time to fumble with my makeup and stare at myself in the mirror. I wanted to look perfect. I wanted to make it hard for him to ignore me.

 

The black car arrived to pick me up exactly at eight forty-five. I assumed the driver remembered my address from when he had taken me home after the gala at Stardust Hotel, but I didn’t exchange a word with him. Again he avoided eye contact with me as he held open the door. I mused as he drove about whether Zarc extended driving service to all of his guests. Or perhaps I really was special.

Rather than leaving me on the curb in front of the block like the taxi had the last evening I’d been here, the car turned behind the tower, down a driveway and into a secure garage, until finally stopping in front of a carpeted alcove. It featured nothing but another artificial ficus—a strange attempt to look like an office tower, as it mirrored the same one in the dusty and abandoned lobby entrance above. I pressed the button to call the elevator, and the door opened instantly, as though it had been waiting there to admit me.

I entered the elevator, and turned around just in time to see the sleek black car driving away. I pressed the button to signal my arrival, and barely a minute later the elevator doors opened to admit me, and moved smoothly upward without further command.

Perhaps he’d be wearing that same sport coat as before, over a button-down shirt. I’d been too confused and wary of him to appreciate how handsome he had looked at the Stardust party. But tonight I would take my chance. I’d make an excuse to stay behind, after all the other guests had left, so he and I could talk alone. We could sit on his couch—not across the coffee table from each other, but side by side, close enough to feel his breath on me, one of his hands on my knee and the other around the back of the seat behind me. My heart started to race and that blooming heat crept up my neck again. I thought back to that magazine photo…the intricate dips and curves of his gorgeous torso, of running my hands over his taut, glowing skin…of the softness of his tongue and the hardness of his body…

I was still young. I could have whatever I wanted. Even just once.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out into that inexplicably huge and perfectly temperate living room, set with the same pair of dark chesterfield couches by those large, expansive windows that angled to overlook the city, the same sideboard set with fancy bottles, and absolutely no party guests. Empty, except for—

“Hello, Ray.”

Yuusha was waiting for me, halfway across the room, wearing casual slacks and a simple shirt with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, just like what he’d worn when I’d first met him here all those months ago. 

“You tricked me,” I said, walking toward him with a coy gait, keenly aware of how the delicate fabric of this dress clung to my thighs and accentuated the flaunty sway of my hips. Being kittenish was uncharacteristic of me, and yet it felt so natural in this moment. “You made me think this would be a big party.” I watched him look at me, watched his eyes flick down to my legs below the knee, my waist, my bare shoulders, and then back to my face as a small smile played across his lips.

I drew level with him, and he gently took both of my hands in his. “It’ll be a memorable evening, I’m sure.”

This was perfect. This way I could skip right to the end of the fantasy I’d laid out for us, the part after all the other guests had left and I had him all to myself. I wanted him to hurry up and kiss me, to begin to appease this blooming ache below my belly. But instead he moved his hands slowly up my arms, watching his own fingers with reverence as they touched me. A sort of warm shiver ran though my veins as I watched him revel in the feel of me; his caress left behind a tingling sensation as though he was lighting a trail of sparks on my skin. He slid his hands around my back and I brought my arms up around his neck, still feeling like I was sparkling from his touch, and he laid his forehead against mine. His eyes fluttered shut, and I closed my own, basking only in the feel of him, the brush of his breath on my cheek.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he said softly, pulling me in close.

I smiled, thinking of the sadness I’d seen on his face in those moments when his dragons would vanish from the projection plane, the stinging reminder that they weren’t truly alive to be with him. “You really are extraordinary,” I said. “I wish I’d seen it sooner.”

He inhaled slowly, as though he was breathing me in, and finally murmured, “I’d lived my whole life feeling like…feeling like I was halfway home. Like anything I wanted was still out of reach no matter how close I came. The only love I felt was still just a whisper in the dark, or a far-off call I was always so desperate to answer. I was searching for anything that could get me there, anything to break through that boundary—and then you rang my doorbell. And when I met you I knew everything was finally within reach. You could help me finally get home.”

I didn’t know what to say to any of this. I’d come here hoping for some carnal gratification, not expecting this kind of confession, not expecting to have to face his raw open heart. I let my fingers play lightly in his hair and stroke the back of his neck, as he went on.  
“And you were—you _are_ —brilliant, and beautiful, and you understand me like no one else ever has. You’re like me. I can hear the monsters’ voices and you can feel their hearts—it was like destiny, Ray. Like we were meant to meet and create something new and incredible together. I’ve never felt this close to anyone before.”

I sought around for something to say. The sparks he’d left on my skin were starting to catch fire in my blood. My heart was racing like it might burst. I pressed my chest against his. “I won’t disappear,” I said. “I’m here, with you.” I opened my eyes, and he was looking back at me again. 

“Say my name again?” he whispered.

“Yuusha.”

And he finally, finally kissed me. He wrapped himself around me. His lips, the exhilarating delicacy of his tongue, his breath, the smell of him, they were all the same as before, but this time deeper and slower. It was just us. No deadlines, no time limits or ethics, rules, or standards. Just his mouth, his hands, his body, and his gloriously empty home for the whole night.

The fire in my blood was pumping through me so quickly I could hardly take in a breath. This was bliss, this was the ascent to heaven. The flower below my belly was burning, aching, ravening. I didn’t want to stop kissing him to tell him what I wanted—I didn’t even know if my voice would work with my heart pounding so hard in my throat—so as he kissed me I closed my lips around his tongue, just long enough, and let my hand travel down his chest. _Oh god, his chest!_ Every perfect muscle, every hard, sculpted ripple, I could feel every contour even over his shirt. I reached his hips, slipped the tips of my fingers under his shirt, and gently ran my hands over his skin, all at once tender and divinely firm, hoping my touch would leave that same trail of sparks on him, set fire to his blood, move him along…

I slid my hand around to the small of his back, tracing that beautiful dip of his spine, and finally threaded my fingers around his belt and pulled his hips to press against mine. I stroked my leg against his. On cue, he moved that hand from my back to hold behind my thigh, pressing me closer.

The fire under my skin was starting to melt me. This was just how I’d imagined it, on a few shameful nights as I had fallen asleep, forsaking the denial of my feelings for him just to make sense of that flowering desire that had opened within me. It had been so long since I’d been touched by passionate hands, so long since I’d felt like my whole body was wide awake like this. I was torn between the desire to savor every sweet moment of him and the desperate impatience to ease my visceral ache.

I trailed my hand from around his neck and plucked open the top button of his shirt, and ran my hand underneath the collar, feeling over the perfect definition of his shoulder, enveloping myself again in that incredible scent that lingered about him like an enchanting aura. I left off from his mouth to press my lips into the indent of his collarbone, diving deeper into the pleasure of my senses, leaving soft, lush kisses on his neck.

“Ray,” I felt his low voice purr in his throat beneath my lips. “There’s something I want to show you.”

This didn’t seem like the time for playful euphemisms, but I decided to take it in stride.

“I know,” I murmured, hoping he’d take my hint again, “But I feel so…overdressed.” 

He was supposed to respond by slipping his fingers under the straps of my dress to pull them from my shoulders, or slowly undoing the zipper down my back so I could let the whole thing fall to a heap on the floor, but he didn’t. Instead, he let out a soft little laugh, kissed my cheek, and said, “You look perfect. They’re going to love you.”

I blinked. “…What?”

His face split all of a sudden into a brash, elated grin, and he pulled his arms from around me to grab both of my hands again. “I wanted to show you what you’ve really done for me,” he said, “That’s why I invited you.”

“Show me?” I said, bemused by his abrupt change of manner. “You didn’t just want to…see me?”

“I told you, I wanted you to celebrate with us.” Still with that mysterious smile, he led me by the hand across the room—not down that back staircase to the bedroom like I wanted, but toward the couches and the coffee table by the window. His duel disk was lying neatly on the table, and he picked it up—tenderly, almost—to fit it onto his wrist.

“What…what are we doing?” I had to ask, completely lost to the situation, but watching his face carefully. He was oddly flushed; he hadn’t looked this way after the times we’d kissed before, and yet his eyes were bright with anticipation. 

“They’ve been whispering to me for as long as I could remember,” he said again, “Telling me secrets. What I could really do for them. I’ve wanted them to live, really live—not just in the arena, but anywhere, everywhere. They’ve wanted to be with me, always.”

“It—” I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and made a little shake of my head, as though I could rattle his words into making sense, “The modified disk shares energy output with the RSV reactor but it still doesn’t work outside the arena. The closest projector is back at the lab, half a mile away, and it’s not turned on—”

“I know, I know, that’s just it,” he grabbed my hand again and dragged me back into the middle of the hugely empty room. “I know our project was just to share the energy output between the reactor and the disk. But the monsters—they told me, they whispered to me, that I could bring them to life.”

“And you’ve done that already,” I said, still trying to figure out what he was talking about. “They’re incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Their souls are really alive.”

“Not enough,” he replied, squeezing my hand, “They’re not alive enough. I could cultivate their souls, but I couldn’t sustain their physical form without the projector in the arena. I had to rely on it. But then I met you—you and your brilliant little idea to share the power outputfor the projections between the disk and the reactor, so we didn’t have to rely on it.”

“You still _need_ the main reactor,” I frowned, aggravated, “It’s a fifty-fifty share. The disk won’t project the monsters without the other half of the output.” I peered into his face, expecting him to look disappointed that he’d misunderstood the purpose of the project—even though I had explained it so clearly all those times in the lab?

But he smiled even wider. “Yes,” he said, “That’s the secret they told me. I do it myself.”

I stared at him, starting to finally understand what he was getting at. “You think you can…you think you can project them…yourself?”

He gazed at a fixed point on the floor some yards away, and replied quietly as though speaking to himself, “I know I can.” He drew in a deep breath. “Their souls came from me, I created them. Why shouldn’t I be able to bring their bodies to life as well?”  
“Because it’s—” I paused, thinking of the tiny, unstable sliver of energy my father had absorbed into the system from the little potted camellia earlier today, “It’s not _possible_? A human body’s energy can power a light bulb, maybe, but not—”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” he said earnestly, “Life is more than just energy and matter, it’s something more than you can calculate.”

I couldn’t think of anything reasonable to say to this. Yes, we’d talked about the mysteries of the monsters; their voices he could inexplicably hear, their hearts I could feel like they were my own. 

“They told me their secrets,” he repeated, “They don’t apply to the rules of this world, its limits, its boundaries. You and I can break that boundary,” he interlocked his fingers tightly through mine, “We can reach through it, we can catch a glimmer of the other side. But I want to hear their voices clearly, right beside me, not from far away. Not only over the noise of the crowd. Not only in the arena. Not only sometimes.”

_A whisper in the dark, a far-off call I was always so desperate to answer._ I had nothing to say to this. He’d been telling me this all along, even on that evening in the lamplit pathway. _They want to be with me, always. I want to make them happy, I want them to live._ He’d sought my help, not just looking for companionship, someone to relate to, but someone who could help him bring his beloved monsters to life in a more profound way than he ever could before. Everything we’d discussed back in the lab had always made sense; measured and scientific, but for someone who had once told me that he didn’t believe in magic, this sounded quite like…

He dropped my hand to reach inside his breast pocket and drew out his four cards—which I suspected by now he kept right by his heart at every moment. His four dragons, those creatures into which he had breathed such lively souls out of his very being. With a flick of his wrist his disk engaged, the card plane springing to life in pale yellow light. He held three of his cards in his left hand and the fourth in his right, holding it up to his face in some reverence, before looking sideways at me.

“Let me show you.”

I swallowed, and nodded. My skepticism was mixed in equal measure with curiosity and trepidation. What if it didn’t work? And what if…what if it did?

He took another breath as he held the card between his fingers, and I wondered if he could hear the monster within it speaking to him, urging him. Slowly, deliberately, his hand trembling slightly in anticipation, he laid the card on the light plane.

The plane flashed as the disk read the card, and for a moment I was sure it wouldn’t work. For half a moment we stood stiffly, while his eyes remained fixed on that spot on the empty floor, waiting, until—

Tiny lights like sparks gathered, beginning at that spot on the floor and building upwards, forming the shape of the body. I could feel its soul gathering, the presence awakening within it, just like I had in the lab when I’d projected the monsters for him. It was forming together; the sweeping tail, the long, curved neck, the powerful claws and feet and then—

“You’re here,” Yuusha breathed beside me, as we both gazed upon the glorious and fully projected scarlet beast, the Odd-Eyes Dragon.

Just like it had when it had first appeared in the lab, the dragon blinked its mismatched eyes and flicked its head from side to side, surprised and confused to be woken up in a place like this. It shook its broad shoulders, shifted its weight from foot to foot as though unfamiliar with the floor beneath it. I took in each of its emotions, as it slowly registered with curiosity that turned into wonder to discover that this was neither the arena nor the lab.

“You’re here!” Yuusha launched himself across the room and flung his arms around the dragon’s magnificent head. I felt the dragon’s heart burst into overflowing joy like a firework, and even I was overcome with its happiness. It was impossible— _should_ have been impossible—for the monster to take a physical form here in this place, completely independent from the RSV reactor, and yet here it was as crisp and solid as I’d ever seen in the arena or in any of our tests in the lab. The dragon’s presence filled the room, as real and profound as the first time I’d met it. Incredible. Unbelievable.

“This is—this is our home,” Yuusha was saying, and it suddenly dawned on me why he had chosen to keep this huge tower room nearly empty save for his simple sitting area. “We can be together here. Look—look over here!” He ran to the nearby window and the dragon followed excitedly. “See? You can see the whole city from here.”

The dragon let out a deep croon of awe, and swished its tail as it gazed out at the blinking city lights below. With a little leap of delight it tapped a claw and pressed its snout against the glass, its breath clouding the surface.

“Can you see the arena out there?” Yuusha said to him, “That’s where we usually play. But we’ll live here now, all of us.”

The dragon let out another deep, happy croon and I felt its heart dance with a joyous ache, as though a wish long, long awaited was finally being fulfilled.

“Ray is here too.” 

Yuusha turned the dragon’s face toward me, and again I felt the dragon burst with excitement and joy. It stamped its feet and tossed its head, scampered over to me and butted its nose buoyantly against my shoulder as a way of greeting.

“Ah—hello again!” I said, laughing as the dragon’s own joy took hold of my heart. The dragon roared happily, and gamboled in a circle around me, snapping its jaws and beating its tail against the marble floor, until it finally circled back around to rejoin its master. It rubbed its golden face against the side of Yuusha’s head, and curled its neck around to make a gentle but insistent nudge between his shoulder blades, so that he had to stumble a few paces toward me.The monster snapped its jaws and jerked its head in my direction. I smiled at Yuusha’s sheepish face.

“You did it,” I said, too overwhelmed too speak in more than a whisper.

His voice broke in a breath that might have been either a laugh or a sob. He grinned and blinked furiously, opened his arms and ran toward me. I caught him around the neck, laughing as he swept me up and spun me around and around in the air, so fast that one of my shoes slipped off my foot and flew across the room. He was so completely beside himself with infectious, unbridled joy that I laughed openly. He put me down and held me in a close embrace, rocking me back and forth for a moment before whispering, “Thank you, Ray. Thank you,” and kissing me with vigor, while I stood on one foot with only one shoe, dizzy from more than just the spinning.

The dragon snorted impatiently beside us, snapping its jaws and nudging Yuusha’s shoulder with its face again. “I know, I know,” he broke away from me, and reached up to stroke the dragon’s long, scarlet neck. “You want to see your brothers too. Shall we bring the next one out?”

The Odd-Eyes Dragon stamped its feet in gleeful anticipation.

“You’re going to call out another one?” I said apprehensively, “Are you sure you can do that?”

“Of course I can,” he said dismissively, and pulled his arms from around me to ready his second card.

And the second dragon appeared, just like the first had, in a shower of glowing sparks that materialized into its perfectly-rendered body: the sleek, smooth-necked Dark Rebellion Dragon. It, too, shook itself awake in some confusion and disorientation, gazing around at this new place, took notice of Yuusha, and stretched its black wings with a sigh of freed contentment. The Odd-Eyes Dragon gamboled another circle around its newly-awakened brother, and they bumped foreheads in friendly greeting.

“They seem to like each other,” I observed, smiling as I watched them.

“Their personalities are not terribly similar,” Yuusha conceded, “But they get along well. They’re part of the same whole, after all,” he said, his eyes glittering up at them as they greeted each other. “They belong together.” 

He reached out his hand to welcome his second dragon, running his palm along its dark, smooth neck. I felt its happiness at being with its master, its devotion to him. The dragon blinked and flicked its head to the side, taking notice of me. In contrast to its hesitance toward me when last I’d met this creature, the distrustful and wary regard was replaced this time by a warm, content sense of familiarity, and the dragon took no time in shuffling over to me and cuddling its head right between my neck and shoulder.

“Ah—yes, I do remember you!” I said with a surprised laugh as the dragon’s assertive pressure tickled my bare skin. “Not as shy this time, I see?” I wrapped my arms around its long neck, and it sighed heavily with comfort, as though it could nestle here for hours.

I took a moment to marvel at the presence of both the dragons at once. I had thought that a second dragon would confuse the emotions I could feel between it and the first dragon, but the hearts of the two seemed to blend perfectly, each soul playing a separate part in a lovely harmony. I could pick out their individual personalities, and yet they made perfect sense together. And below the two of them, keeping the time at a steady, deep pace, hard to detect but certainly there, a constant rhythm, like a drumbeat, like a…

“And the third,” Yuusha said, laying his hand on my shoulder. It was more pressure than I expected. Was I imagining it, or was he a little unsteady on his feet?

I peered closely at his face. Perhaps he, too, was simply overwhelmed with joy and veneration at finally being with his monsters at last, but his forehead was shining with sweat.

The third dragon appeared, the white Clear Wing Dragon with its long body, large claws, and blunt head. Unlike its fellows, this dragon took no notice of its surroundings and barely even of Yuusha before its gaze fell immediately onto me, and it flooded the room with its wild excitement as it lunged right at me.

“ _Gently_!” Yuusha warned it, even as the Clear Wing Dragon shoved the Dark Rebellion Dragon off of my shoulder with a stubborn snort to enclose me covetously but delicately in its large claws like a precious treasure. The dragon looked down at me happily, and then turned its head to Yuusha, as though asking permission of its master for something.

“Do you want to go for a ride?” Yuusha asked me, sounding slightly uncertain.

I wrapped my arms around the Clear Wing Dragon’s neck and kicked off my other shoe to let it cradle me in its claws. “You won’t drop me this time, will you?” I said, and in response it simply lifted away from the ground, ten, twenty, thirty feet up, until we were practically against the high ceiling. I felt my stomach swoop as the floor fell away and I shrieked with laughter and held on tighter as we flew in wide circles around the cavernous living room. The Dark Rebellion Dragon also lifted off the ground to loop around us as we flew, and below I saw Yuusha leap onto his Odd-Eyes Dragon’s back and ride laps below us, watching us above him with bright-eyed awe. The harmony between the first two dragons now added a third part to its consonance with the new dragon, a lively air that played along with the rhythm between them.

“Alright, that’s enough!” I called to the dragon, and with some disappointment and another swoop of my stomach, it dipped suddenly down to the floor where Yuusha waited atop his scarlet Odd-Eyes Dragon, placing me neatly into his open arms.

“Amazing, aren’t they?” he said, holding me up against his chest as he jumped down from his dragon’s back.

I kept my arms around his neck even after he set me back down on my feet. “They’re like music,” I said, “It’s like their souls are singing together—it’s not quite like a sound, but I…I feel it in my heart. It’s beautiful.”

He pressed his forehead against mine again for a moment, closing his eyes as he murmured, “It is, isn’t it?” And then he slid his hand up the length of my arm to grasp my hand and pull it out to our side, placed his other arm around my waist, and swept me right up into a dance.

It was incredible, the most romantic moment of my entire life, dancing barefoot with him in his empty room as his three dragons pranced and tumbled around us, to the winsome rhythm that somehow resonated only within us. In all our meetings together he’d never been like this; overcome with elation as though the presence of his monsters filled him with uncontainable joy. He twirled me and dipped me until I was flush and breathless, laughingin my own frenzied euphoria, and then he kissed me, kissed me with so much passion I thought I might faint. Every instant with him was like an ever-intensifying fever dream, a complete surrender to the glorious transport that the presence of his magnificent creatures somehow brought between us. I wanted to be like this forever, kissing him with my heart racing and my breath coming in delirious gasps.

But then it cut short. His breath hitched and he swayed, instinctively grabbing around my shoulders for support. My knees nearly buckled at his sudden weight, but I managed not to fall.

“Are you—are you alright?” I looked carefully up at him as he steadied himself on me, holding his face between my hands.

“I’m fine.”

I kept my eyes on his face, a sudden twinge of concern reentering my mind. “But…your nose is bleeding.”

He blinked slowly, and at my words he gently stepped away from me, letting my arms slide away from him as he brought up the back of his hand to wipe away the little trickle that had run down across his lips. He stared down at the smear of blood for a second in surprise, before taking his fourth card into his right hand.

I took his wrist. “Don’t.”

He turned to look at me, a slight frown between his eyebrows, and said with the breath of a derisive laugh, “You’re going to stop us after we’ve gotten this far?”

“This isn’t good for you,” I tightened my hand on his wrist, “You have to be in good shape for tomorrow night, right? Maybe—maybe it’s best not to overexert yourself.”

The steady tempo that had played behind the harmony of the dragons’ souls had amplified into a defined, heavy pounding. I pressed my fingers into his wrist, and—yes, there it was, his pulse beating in perfect time, keeping that exact same rhythm. It was incredible, unbelievable, to think that these projections could be sustained by a human heartbeat; amazing, and somehow terrifying. I was scared.

He made to jerk his arm out of my grasp, but I held on.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

“It’s already put a strain on you,” I insisted, “If you’re bleeding—”

“I said I’m fine!” he replied sharply.

I stared at him, feeling my brow crease at his tone. “Let’s stop!” I pressed, “Let’s—let’s do it another time, let’s wait—”

“I’ve waited my whole life for this!” he cried, “I don’t want to wait anymore!”

And in one forceful movement he shoved me away from him, wrenching his arm out of my grasp as I stumbled backward, and slapped the fourth card down on his disk.

The final dragon appeared in another shower of resplendent sparks, just like its brothers; the lithe, serpentine Starve Venom Dragon wafting its sweetly acidic perfume, that took no time in coiling itself covetously again around its master. I felt its soul join the harmony of the others, a new pitch added in atop the others, and still the beat beneath them all grew louder, more intense, as I felt that heavy pounding resonate through my own chest.

“Alright,” I said, as the weight of the four dragons’ collective presence pressed down on my heart, “You’ve done it, all four of them are here. Is this enough, now?”

He didn’t respond, but reached his hand out to run his fingers along the curve of this fourth dragon’s downturned horn. I couldn’t tell if he was too enraptured by his monsters’ strangely intoxicating presence to hear me, or if he was simply ignoring me. For all the eagerness I’d had earlier to touch him, feel him, I was now somewhat wary to approach him. But still I felt that throbbing tempo, his own forceful heartbeat, pierce through me count by count. It was painful, unnatural, and I watched his chest rise and fall at a shallow pace.

“Look at them, Ray,” he said thickly, “They’re beautiful. They’re incredible.”

“Yes,” I said slowly, watching the Odd-Eyes Dragon gambol over to the Starve Venom Dragon to greet it with a friendly nudge, “They’re—they’re very good.”

His right hand was free of cards now, and he held it out to me. I hesitated for a moment, just for a beat of that tremorous rhythm, and then took his hand, hoping his touch would provide me with some reassurance. He pulled me close, shoulder to shoulder with him, and the Starve Venom Dragon moved to circle its coils around me too, just enough that I couldn’t step away. I felt its sticky-sweet breath on my face.

A glint passed by my right eye, and I turned my head to see the Dark Rebellion Dragon next to me again, carefully avoiding me with its great bladelike tusk to nuzzle its face on my shoulder. Hardly a moment later, the Clear Wing Dragon softly bumped its blunt snout against the side of my head, begging for attention. The Odd-Eyes Dragon issued a deep-throated hum of satisfaction as it laid its jaw down on Yuusha’s head. They were happy. Happy to be here with their master in the home he’d made for them, happy to be with me, too. I felt it swell up inside me, pure and ingenuous like the feelings of children, grappling against my heavy worry.

Yuusha closed his eyes. “They’re singing to me.” His hand tightened around mine. “Don’t you feel them?”

“I do,” I replied, but I was too concerned to appreciate it; the trickle of blood was back, dripping down across his lips and off his chin, and the hand that held mine was trembling. “But…Yuusha, let’s stop now. You’ve done what you wanted to do. I think…I think this is hurting you.”

He let out another derisive laugh and looked up at his creatures. “They love me. This is what they want. They want to be alive, with me.”

“I know,” I said. Again I hesitated, unsure how to phrase the strange fear that was creeping up within me. That the magic that had been bestowed upon him, this incredible, impossible ability to sustain the monsters with his own soul outside of the arena was taking too much from him. It was draining him, every painful throb of the rhythm that upheld the monsters’ harmony must be piercing through him even more acutely than I could feel myself. “But you—they’re not _really_ alive, you know? They’re still just—still just projections powered by a battery. They’re not real, they’re just synthetic material.”

And yet, I wasn’t sure. The synthetic particles that would build and break down the projections in the arena were emitted by the RSV reactor beneath the porous floor. If that huge, complex machine could be replaced by the simple constancy of a human pulse, then maybe…

He let go of my hand to reach over his head and stroke the Odd-Eyes Dragon’s scaled neck. This was not how I had pictured our evening unfolding; I hadn’t expected that deep, indefinite pitch of his heartbeat to terrify me like this, even if it somehow magically upheld these monsters beyond scientific reason. Even if there was any hope now of refocusing his attention back onto me, letting those monsters fade away while we picked up on our moment of passion where we’d so abruptly left off, he was already pushed to his limit. I could almost hear the unnatural pressure of his blood rushing in my ears as his heartbeat pounded. 

“We’ll find a way,” he said with somewhat ragged breath and lowering his arm, “It’s working. They’re here. They’re here with me. We’ll keep working together to make it stronger, to make them live. I can’t live without them.” 

He snaked his arm around my waist, but again the pressure felt strange and worrisome, a little too tight a pinch. 

He pressed his cheek against the side of my head. “I have everything I want, right here,” he whispered, but the strain in his voice was unmistakeable. “And Ray, I wanted to tell you…tell you that if I—when I—”

But then several things happened all at once: he lurched, doubling over and grasping fiercely his chest, the projection of the monsters flickered as though their power had been temporarily cut, and the heavy tempo that kept time behind the music suddenly hit a deafening, offbeat blow.

“Yuusha!” I lunged forward to grab his shoulder to look into his face, his eyes wide and strangely glassy, as the presence of the monsters around me changed instantaneously from bliss to terror. They shrieked in pain as their physical presence faltered. The Dark Rebellion Dragon right beside me tossed its head in convulsion and the steel tusk from its jaw flashed; a sudden, intense pain sliced through my shoulder. I screamed and clutched at the cut, as the Dark Rebellion Dragon tossed its head madly and backed away from me. The harmony of the dragons’ emotions was slipping; I felt the Dark Rebellion’s terror and remorse, its panic as it looked from the blood seeping between my fingers to its master still doubled over and clawing at his chest.

“You didn’t mean to!” I said, trying to reach out to the dragon, calm it down as its head swayed and its eyes rolled and it overflowed with anguish and distress at my wound. “It’s not that bad! It’s okay! Please—please calm down—”

But behind me there was a deafening crash, and I turned quickly to see the Clear Wing and Starve Venom Dragons locked in an enraged struggle, roaring and spitting as their tailsand claws whipped out to strike each other. They knocked over the sideboard and shattered every single one of the fancy bottles and glasses that it contained, littering the floor with a cascade of smashed glass as they screeched and clawed at one another. The harmony between the four dragons was completely broken now; that wild, arrhythmic pounding leading nothing but a cacophony of pain and anger and fear. I wanted to cover my ears, but the chaos pelted on my heart like stones.

“Stop fighting! Stop!” I screamed at them, but they slammed against the wall, the floor, flew up to the ceiling and smashed the light fixtures and I had to throw my arms over my head as shards of glass rained down on me. “Yuusha, do something! _Yuusha_!”

He was still standing, clutching at his chest, as the Odd-Eyes Dragon nudged him frantically and tossed its head in terror. I ran to him, grabbed his shoulders to look into his face.

“Don’t go,” he said, barely more than a whisper.  


“I’m right here,” I said, “I’m right here, I—”

“Don’t go!” he cried again, but another resounding pulse of that heartbeat sent another tremor through the dragons’ projections, flickering like a broken connection, and all four of them screamed in sudden pain. The Odd-Eyes Dragon reeled backward, foaming and crying. “Don’t leave me!”

“Turn it off!” I yelled, “Turn it off! Just turn it off! Let them go!”

I made to grab at his left wrist, to switch off his duel disk if he wasn’t able to, but he jerked his arm away from me with surprising quickness for his state.

“They have to stay with me!” he bellowed, “They want to be with me!”

“Not like this!” I shrieked back. Over his shoulder I watched the Dark Rebellion Dragon join the other two in their crazed fight, cracks of violet lightning ripping across the room, gouging the marble floor and shattering the windows, smashing out of one and into another, littering the floor with broken glass. “They’ve gone insane! This is hurting them!”

“NO!” More of the ceiling lights crashed to the floor and threw his face into a distorted half-light, manic and furious, “They are my soul! THEY ARE MY SOUL!”  


“Let them go! This is going to kill you!” I lunged again for his wrist, clinging to his duel disk to turn it off—rip out the new module I’d installed in there earlier this week, make the dragons disappear before that wild heartbeat within them all hit a final stroke. 

“ _I can’t live without them_!”

He fought me, clawing at my shaking hands and tossing his arm in the attempt throw me off of him as I gritted my teeth and hung on, until—

“How dare you try to take them from me! _HOW DARE YOU—_ “

And with a wild, violent swing of his arm my fingers let go of him, the back of his closed fist collided with the side of my face and—after a strange moment of weightlessness, spotted darkness and muffled shrieks, roars, and crashing—I hit the floor, rolling across the cold, glass-strewn marble until I stopped on my side, gasping in pain. I could hear his voice still crying out, the lights flickered out of control and the windows smashed around me, but it was all I could do to roll onto my stomach and cover my head with my arms while that clamorous beating pounded through my chest and hammered like a spike into my heart—

And then everything stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No snarky memes today.
> 
> This was...a hefty chapter, to say the least of its emotional whiplash here, and one that begs more notes than I can give right now for the sake of preserving the themes of the story thus far, so please see the notes that will come at the end of the next chapter if you feel inclined.
> 
> I was nervous to post this chapter, not least because it and the following chapter are the sequence that took me through four or five total rewrites before this final version, but also because it is a very personal approach to the interpretation of this backstory. Please take with however many grains of salt you need.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your thoughts and comments! <3
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter 10: Yuusha


	10. Yuusha

> As the devil spoke, we spilled out on the floor
> 
> And the pieces broke and the people wanted more,
> 
> And the rugged wheel is turning another round.

\- Agnes Obel, “Dorian”

* * *

 I didn’t know if I lay there with my arms over my head for several hours or barely a minute, but when the pulsing pain on the side of my face slowed to a dull throb, I opened my eyes. The room was completely dark, save for the slivers of moonlight and pollution of light from the city below that glinted off the shards of glass that were now strewn all over the floor. The dragons were gone, but the deep gouges in the marble floor, the slashed chesterfield couches, and the shattered glass-top coffee table remained, and nearly every window had been smashed to pieces. Some of the lights still flickered weakly in the steel frame that hung now like a cold skeleton over my head.

I tried to stand, but the side of my head pounded in renewed pain and I stumbled back to my knees. It would be impossible to find my shoes amid all this debris in the darkness, and somehow my dress had ripped a few inches up from the hem. Perhaps when I’d hit the ground after flying across the room, after he’d—

I turned my head slowly, since the room still wanted to spin a little extra, raking the dark, glass-littered floor for what I needed to see.

He was lying where he’d stood, on his side with his arm flung over his face, outlined in the dim light from the city below, and completely still. _Oh god. Oh god._ The pounding heartbeat had stopped, the dragons were gone. Was he…?

Cautiously, I got to my feet again, the adrenaline blocking the pain in my head as my eyes sharpened to the new darkness. I barely registered the pricks of the glass under my bare feet, but I walked toward him all the same, all at once terrified and resolute. I had to check—I had to know, I had to be sure.

The card plane of his duel disk had deactivated, but the screen was flashing the dim error message BATTERY OVERLOAD—BATTERY OVERLOAD—BATTERY OVERLOAD—as I knelt down beside him and, shaking, pressed my two fingers under his jawbone.

I gasped in relief at the steady pulse I felt there. He was alive; and, now that my eyes had adjusted to the semidarkness, I saw that he was breathing in shallow but even intervals. I could call the police, but without the authorization on his disk I had no way of allowing them up here in the elevator, and I certainly couldn’t carry him even as far as the lobby downstairs. But he was alive, breathing. He’d wake up to his wrecked living room and I’d be gone.

Still trembling from adrenaline, I gingerly switched off his duel disk and, after a moment of hesitation, unhooked the auxiliary module from the wrist unit. The Exhibition didn’t matter; not after this. He was in no state to compete tomorrow. If I’d known he’d try to do this—try to use his own heart, pour himself out to sustain these monsters out of some manic ambition—I’d never had developed this in the first place.

I was about to stand back up when something else on the floor caught my eye, glinting amidst a dust of debris and shards of glass: a card, one of the four he’d summoned. It must have fallen from his card plane when his disk had deactivated. I reached across him and picked it up. It was innocent and quiet, as any card ever was. Harmless. Its brothers were not far away, and I collected them until I held all four in my hand, and I looked down at him.

He’d wake up to the wreckage and I’d be gone.

But I couldn’t let him have these. They’d almost destroyed him; innocent as they were, childlike and blameless and endearing as they were, it had nearly drained him out to maintain their measured harmony, sent them reeling into discordant chaos. He couldn’t have them, not if he’d ever try this again.

I stood up, and turned to locate the elevator across the dark room. It wasn’t too far, I could make it without my shoes if I picked my way carefully to avoid the worst of the scattered glass. I walked slowly, trying to feel out the larger pieces of glass with the side of my foot but still stepping on the occasional tiny shard. 

“You have something that belongs to me.”

I didn’t turn around right away, but a cold shiver ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the draft from the smashed windows. Holding the four cards as a small stack against my body so he couldn’t see them, I looked over my shoulder.

Zarc hard gotten to his feet, still with a smear of blood across his face and the top buttons of his shirt undone from when I’d kissed him, but now his eyes were fixed on me in a cold, stony gaze.

I held out the auxiliary module I’d unplugged from his duel disk. “I think it must have malfunctioned. I’m going to take it back to the lab and—”

“Give them back.”

I turned slowly to face him, still keeping the cards hidden behind my body, but it was clear from the look on his face that there was no use pretending I didn’t have them. 

“No.”

He took a step toward me, and I took a step back. Viscerally I felt again, as I had on the very first evening we’d met in this same room, that if I turned and ran he would instinctively chase me down like an animal driven by instinct to hunt me, but this time I was holding something he was certainly not going to let me keep. His face was ugly, twisted halfway between a taunting smile and a grimace.

“Even after all this, you’re still being withholding?” he snarled, “You thought you could come here after some wish-fulfillment fantasy and then walk away with something precious to me?”

“What are you talking about?” I threw back, panic beginning to mingle with my rising anger as he kept advancing toward me, “You invited me here and then you—if I’d known this was your plan all along I’d have never agreed to make this for you! My father and I worked on this for _months_ and of course you had to go and abuse it, just like you did with my father’s machine three years ago, just like when you took away everything I had worked so hard for my whole life! Here, take it back!” I flung the auxiliary module down at him, where it clattered to the floor at his feet.

He didn’t even look at it, but kept his eyes fixed on me. “So what are you going to do now?” he sneered, “Is there anywhere you think you can hide that I won’t find them?”

From the four cards in my hand I felt a pulse, a twitch, that reflexively brought my hand out from behind my back so he could plainly see them in front of me. It was as though the cards themselves were reaching out to their master, desperate to be back in his outstretched hand.

“They’re calling me,” he said quietly, “They want to come back to me.”

It was unmistakeable. Faint, not nearly as powerful and heavy as they had been when the dragons manifested in physical form, but still I felt their urge to return to him. They were aching with longing even to be this many steps away after spending every moment right next to his heart. I pressed them to my chest, trying to muffle their anxious pining, but he was still walking toward me slowly and my feet kept stepping on the shattered glass behind me.

“It’s not possible,” I said, hardly able to choke out more than a shaky whisper, “It’s not _possible_. They can’t be really alive, don’t you understand? They exist for the game, only for the game. There’s no technology that can change that. They’ll…they’ll still only ever be…”

The hand that was not reached out to me for his cards balled involuntarily into a fist. His face convulsed strangely, as though he might scream, or sob, or wail in agony.

“You were supposed to help me.” His voice barely contained the flood of rage that I could already see convulsing in his hands.

“I can’t help you anymore!” I threw back, “I—I won’t. They told you their secrets, did they? Did they tell you it might kill you to even try this?”

“We can get stronger,” he said quietly, “That’s all. We just need to be stronger. Give them back, Ray.”

“No,” I heard my own voice crack in the strained silence of the room. “It won’t work. It won’t ever work. You can’t create a miracle from a machine.”

“What do _you_ know?”

He stopped advancing on me for a moment, his voice quiet, but desperately uneven and barely controlled. I stopped as well, considering whether I should bolt for the elevator. He took his gaze off of me and stared around the room, up at the broken light fixtures and the smashed windows, before fixing his eyes on me again. 

“If this didn’t work,” he breathed, “I’ll find another way to keep them with me. This is what they want.”

I could feel the dragons beating against my interlocked fingers over them, trying to pound their way free of me, out of time with my own thumping heart. “Why?”

“They’re my soul, Ray. They want to be with me. They have to be with me. I was alone, I had no one, but they told me I was special, they invited me to play with them. The more I listened, the louder their voices became, the more I needed to be with them. Even now. Every day feels like I’m holding my breath until I can duel again, be with them again, even for the most fleeting moments. I _can’t_ bear to be apart from them. They’re my soul. We raised each other, we made each other stronger, I breathed into them and they inspired me.”

“And they’re—” I kept stepping backward, hoping that I’d eventually reach the elevator before he could lunge at me, “They’re the only reason you—you asked for my help? They’re all you ever wanted, and not…?”

The ugly snarl on his face convulsed, as though I’d touched a nerve. “You?”

I waited, breathing, feeling as afraid of his answer as I was of him now.

“Oh, Ray, I wanted you. I’d never met anyone like you before. Finally, someone who could understand me, who I could really, truly share myself with—and they liked you, too,” he pointed at the four cards I held against my chest, “They’d go on and on about how much they liked you. ‘When will we meet Ray again? Do you think Ray was watching our last duel? When we are alive, can Ray live together with us too?’” His hand twitched into a fist. “They liked you—oh, they _loved_ you, Ray. And I wanted to be with you, I wanted to wrap myself up in you, I wanted to touch your skin and feel your soul beneath because finally— _finally_ you were someone like me.” His mouth twitched into what might have been a cruel, derisive smile. “If you’d only make up your mind.”

“I did!” I cried, trying to make sense of his anger, “I wanted you! I came here because I—”

“You just wanted to use me,” he cut in with acrid contempt, “You just wanted to play out a little daydream you’d made for yourself and forget who I really am. After all the times you rejected me you think you can come in here and take whatever you want? Don’t try to argue. I could see it in your eyes, I’ve seen it a thousand times, because you’re just like _them, aren’t you—_?” he thrust his finger forcefully at the smashed window, where the city lay glowing below, “—I used to think they adored me. They cheered and applauded and chanted my name and I thought they loved me, but they kept screaming for more, more, more. All anyone in this cruel, selfish world wants to do is consume me, slake their desires on me, soak me in their bloodlust and string me up to dance for them—I did everything they wanted, I _was_ everything they wanted, I played their game and served their desires to keep my place at the top and keep dueling in the arena just for those fleeting moments with my monsters, because all I could do to be with them was to get stronger and stronger, keep winning and winning and winning and meanwhile all you do is gorge yourselves on my desperation, all you do is chase your selfish whims, all you do is _take_ —!” he bellowed the final word and it rang around the huge, empty, glass-strewn room, as the cards in my hands throbbed again with their yearning for him.

I stared in horror as I watched him heave in his rage, his eyes still fixed on me but with that manic ferocity back in his eyes. He’d said this once before, the last time we’d stood together on the projection plane. _If I don’t duel, if I don’t get to be in the arena, I’ll never hear their voices so clearly._ I’d thought so tenderly of it, his deep love for those monsters, their inexplicable bond, borne from his soul. But this time I was beginning to understand—a slave to his own desperation, a toy for the enjoyment of the throng, trussed up in self-pity and contempt for his own admirers, just so he could revel in his unholy obsession.

“You will give them back to me,” he said, continuing to advance on me as I backed away with stinging, bleeding feet, “I’ve never let anything keep me away from them.”

A pang of anger struck through me, long set aside as I’d settled into that complacent, rosy haze that permeated the city, but now I might as well have been still standing here on the first night I’d met him, full of bitterness and accusations and terror.

“Never let anything keep you away,” I repeated with disgust, “No matter who got hurt, isn’t that right?”

“It’s what they wanted from me,” he spat, “They wanted blood, they wanted destruction, all because of one accident—”

“One accident!” I shrieked, my rage and terror clawing into my chest in equal measure, “And what about the other hundred times? Were _they_ accidents?”  


“It’s what they asked for!” he bellowed, “They used me for their sick appetite, they kept screaming and demanding—”

“And you obliged!” I shrieked, “You did it for them! You think you’re some kind of victim? Did you care what you were doing, as long as you got what you wanted? Did you ever care who you hurt?”

“Why should I care?” His outstretched hand was shaking with his own fury, and his eyeswere wide and fierce, “They’re nothing, they’re puppets to their own ambition, they’re not like me. No one is like me.”

The cards were crying out so desperately to go back to him. I couldn’t understand it—how he had hurt them trying to keep them by his side, how it had hurt him to sustain them…What had he done to them? What had they done to him? How long had their souls all been wrapped up together like this? It was perverse. It was all wrong.

“No one should be like you.”

The color drained out of his face as my shaky whisper hung in the air around us. 

I didn’t know what to do. I glanced around in panic, trying to think of something—anything—to help me. I could give the cards back, just hand them back like he and they wanted, and maybe— _maybe_ he would let me leave quietly. It was as though these past months had never happened; that his gentle demeanor on the lamplit pathways and those visits in the lab were just a shimmering daydream hovering over the horrific truth. As though our intimate moments, our inexplicable connection, were all designed by his deranged ambition and I—being just as selfish and decadent as everyone I’d once despised and resented for their admiration of him—never realized it, too insistent on my own gratification, lusting after some indulgent fantasy. It was like this was still the first night we had met. He could run at me, chase me down, break me. No one even knew I was here—I hadn’t told anyone—

“Give them back.”

I could give them back. Perhaps I should—it was the safest way I could hope to walk away quietly, leave him alone with his obsession like he had always been, but if he kept them—if he tried again to summon them by paying out his own life, he might not survive again. Perhaps I should walk away, and leave him to cave under the weight of his own heartache, but—but for as fearful as I was of the dangerous, violent man that stood before me, I was loath to let the kind, ingenuous boy succumb to that fate. Even if he was an illusion, even if he was never the real boy I thought he was, the boy with the warm eyes, the gentle smile, the softly-curved cheek…

“Give them back, Ray.”

Zarc was still advancing on me. I had nothing—not even a shoe to fling at him, just these four cards in my hand that he was desperate to take from me and I was afraid for him to have.

There was a scatter of half-smashed glass bottles on the floor between us that had crashed from the sideboard, and in the split second that his eyes flicked downward at them I knew what he was about to do. He lunged—I screamed, his fist closed on the neck of a jagged-edged decanter and he flung his arm over his head as he charged toward me, the same wild, vicious eyes as he had at the end of all his duels in the arena, when his opponents had nothing left to defend themselves, when they had no cards to play—

—And in a moment of mindless, reckless panic, right as his fist holding the heavy, jagged bottle was about to come down on my head, I chose one of the four cards in my hand at random and held it out in front of my face like a shield, the thumb and index finger of each of my hands pinching tight to one edge of the card, ready to rip it in half—“ _Stay away from me_!”

He reeled backward and dropped the bottle forcefully onto the floor, where it smashed into a thousand glittering pieces on the black marble. 

“Stay away from me,” I repeated, still holding my paper hostage in front of me.

He stood perfectly still, the vicious snarl he had had before now frozen on his face, but his eyes were suddenly wide and livid. 

“Don’t.”

I could do it. I _could_ do it. I could rend this card in half if he came at me again. I needed to escape; I could tear them apart until I reached the elevator and I was free from him. They’d never hurt him again, he’d be powerless. I could do it.

“Don’t.”

They would never manifest again, he would never be tempted to drain out his heart just to keep them near him. Maybe all the violence would stop. Without their Supreme King the Real Fights might fade out of popularity, the craze would ebb away. Maybe dueling would go back to the harmless entertainment it was before the deranged man in front of me had caused it all to change. Maybe my life would go back to normal, I could duel again, I could be happy again. It would be so easy to defeat this Supreme King right here, just by shredding his little paper weapons. I could do it—I could—

“He’s crying,” Zarc said quietly, “He’s crying—can’t you hear him?”

I looked at the card between my hands. It was facing away from me, and I couldn’t be sure which one I’d chosen as my hostage, but in my own panic I hadn’t noticed its thrill of terror at my sudden threat to its life. Oh, it was so afraid, so helplessly terrified, desperately calling out to its master to be rescued. Even the others were crying in fear for their brother’s safety, their shared heartbeat pumping frantically in my hand, begging their master to save them from me. From me, this ruthless opponent, keeping them away from him and threatening to destroy them.

“I’m—” I choked, trembling but still pinching the edges of the card, “I’m going to leave. You’re going to let me leave and you’re not going to—”

“What is this!?” he bellowed, baring his teeth like an incensed beast, “Oh, Ray, I know I said you were just like all the rest of them but no— _no—_ you are _so much worse_! You’re threatening him just to save yourself!?”

“Save myself from _you_?” I yelled back, my voice trembling in terror, “You were about to—”

“So this is your revenge?” he shouted, “Your real vindication for your father’s work? Your lost limelight? You’re going to rip apart an innocent living thing just to spite me? How _dare_ you, you callous, selfish bitch! What are you doing? _What are you doing_?”

I froze, the gravity of what I was doing crashing down upon me. How dare I. How could I. Slowly, tremulously, I removed my fingers from the edge of the card and returned it to my hand with its fellows. I felt their momentary relief at having their brother returned with them, but now a strain of betrayal aimed at me for threatening them, their nice Ray, their lovely Ray, whom they had liked so much. How could I? These little ones—these innocent, precious souls never deserved to be used as a weapon, by their own beloved master or against him. How could I. How could I.

Still shaking, but now overcome with shame and disgrace, I folded the four helpless cards together in my hand and silently held them out to him.

He crossed the space between us slowly, his eyes still locked onto me as though distrusting that I was sincere in my surrender, and took hold of the stack of cards I offered. I let them slide through my fingers, and I saw him breathe in relief as he returned them to his shirt pocket, I almost made to turn around to leave, but then he whipped his hand out and closed his fingers around my throat.

“No—!” I shrieked, but—

“I thought you would be different,” he snarled into my face as his fingers dug into my neck, “I thought you’d actually be better than the rest of this cruel world, but I guess I was wrong.”

I tried to twist my neck to free myself from his grasp but he just held on tighter, forcing me to look right into his face.

“I can be stronger,” he whispered as I choked silently, “I’m different from everyone else. The monsters chose me. I’ll make them live. I’ll show you—I’ll show everyone.”

One of the lights on a window frame above flickered suddenly, cracking like lurid lightning across his face.

“It will be magnificent, you’ll see,” he went on, “The likes of which the world has never seen. The greatest performance, greater than they could ever imagine. I should thank you, Ray, for showing me how unforgivably rotten the world really is. If even you— _even you_ could be so wretched that you’d _think_ to destroy something innocent just to protect your own pretty skin, you don’t deserve their love.”

He walked forward with me, dragging my bleeding feet along the cold, glass-strewn marble. The back of my shoulders met the wall and he pressed me against it, his wide, livid, strangely bright eyes boring into mine as I struggled fruitlessly against his strength. I clawed desperately at his fingers, trying to pull them off of my throat, trying to appeal to any part of him that might have had any semblance of mercy.

“Yuu…sha…” I gasped for breath, “Yuusha—”

“ _Shut up_!” his fingers tightened around my windpipe and jerked his hand with emphasis so that the back of my head knocked against the wall, “ _Shut up_! How dare you use that name for me now? _They_ gave me that name, _they_ chose me as their hero! Everything I am is because of _them_ , and you—you were supposed to be…”

His voice faded as the lack of air muffled my ears, his lurid face swimming in and out of focus. I was going to die here, and my poor father would never know why. I hadn’t told anyone I’d be here, throwing away any caution I’d once had to enrapture myself in my own self-indulgent pleasure. Even Kari was convinced I was playing out some sort of once-in-a-lifetime fantasy dalliance with a famous confection of virility. We’d known all along, hadn’t we? We’d watched him kill countless times in the arena, hadn’t we? The audience cheered for him, praised him, demanded even more. It was all just a show, just a play for them. If the police were here to watch me die, they’d be applauding too. What were we thinking? What was I thinking? What was…what was…

The darkness was engulfing me, I felt my fingers slacken against his clenched hand. Dimly I saw him raise his fist, and I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting him to strike me across the face, hoping it would be over quickly…but he punched the wall beside my arm. I heard a soft, out-of-place chiming sound and the wall behind me—the elevator door?—slid away. With his hand on my throat he flung me backward, and I slammed against the elevator wall and crumpled onto the floor, gasping in simultaneous pain and relief as I filled my lungs with cold, blessed air.

Shakily, I looked back up at him, his eyes livid and his jaw set in fearsome rage. His hand was clutching his heart, the chest pocket where he kept his precious cards.

“I want you to watch me, Ray,” he said with quiet incision, “Watch me tomorrow. It’ll be a performance like you’ve never seen before.”

And the elevator door slid shut.

 

I managed to stay lucid enough to crawl out of the elevator when it reached that nondescript lobby, and got to my feet with the wall for support, still gulping in air as my adrenaline subsided. The cold marble floor was soothing against my stinging bare feet; I dreaded walking out onto the pavement, but there was something I needed. Something I had to get.

The lab was only a few blocks away; if I cut through the park I could get there quickly. I crossed the street, wincing as the rough asphalt aggravated the tiny cuts on my feet, passing lines of pruned rosebushes in the deserted park. I must have looked like a mess; barefoot, my hairstyle ruined, my dress ripped, massaging the bruises blossoming on my neck. My mind was blank. I just needed to get to the lab, back to my familiar musty desk. There was something there I needed. Something that would help. Something that would tell me what to do.

I punched in the keycode to unlock the door to our lab wing, bypassed the elevator and took the stairs two at a time to my office floor, passing Kari’s desk and ramming through the laboratory door to drag open my desk drawers and dig through them for the thing I needed.

My deck, in its little box in my top drawer. All the cards spilled as my hands shook and I resorted to fishing on the floor for the four cards I wanted: my four aces, the glowing cornerstones of my old strategy back when I used to duel. The four whose emotions I could sense the most clearly, whose help I needed now. I found them, some near the top and others buried in the haphazard pile I had dropped. I stumbled to the RSV panel to slam the controls on, collapsed onto my knees on the transaction plane, and cried.

How could I have been so blind? What was it that had lured me in, beguiled me, a warm glance, a softly-curved cheek? I was stupid. I was weak. I was led up the lamplit garden path to believe that a man like Zarc could make me feel respected and appreciated and even _wanted_ after I’d shut myself into my work for so long and refused to seek out my own happiness. What had I hoped for, some celebrity dalliance, a forbidden fling that was never meant to last? Zarc was dangerous, unstable, depraved. I’d lulled myself into believing that “Yuusha” was some disparate being, someone I could dissociate from his violence, when in reality he was altogether consumed by his obsession, his ambition and his madness. The devil counted his grievances as the audience clapped along to his slaughters.

I understood now what my own monsters had been warning me: _Don’t come closer. Don’t cross that line, don’t break that barrier. Stay away, stay away, stay away…_ The voices of the monsters…he’d listened to them as a child, willed them into living souls to fill some void in his heart, desperate to be loved. They’d given him the name “Yuusha,” whispered him their secrets, buried him in their love. The monsters weren’t meant to come so close to our hearts. They were meant to live for the game, serve their purpose for the game, but we were meant to live for more.

The RSV unit’s lights reached their peak level, and I crawled to the auxiliary module to lay my four cards out on the surface. With this prototype I’d have barely a minute, but it had to be enough.

They appeared, all four of them: the blooming prima donna, the singing nightingale, the witch of the icy winds, and the moonlit dancer. Their emotions struck me with such intensity that I doubled over on the floor, holding my head and sobbing at the power of their presence.

“Tell me what to do,” I wept, “Tell me what to do. Tell me what to do.”

I barely knew what I was asking. What could I hope for? Whatever Zarc might do to wreak vengeance upon those who had treated him like a plaything was be beyond my ability to stop. I’d already given him everything he needed, even if it killed him to do it, even if his heart burst. There was no way I could undo the obsession that had driven him mad ever since he was a child, desperate as he was to be loved.

The presence of my monsters reached an aching pitch, a harmony that somehow brought a shimmering vision into my mind like a fever dream. Flashes of images, only quick enough for glimpses. A boy, walking alone through buttressed hallways. A boy, diligently building the skeleton of someindiscernible machine. A boy, hiding behind the walls of a burning city as soldiers marched past. A boy, kicking off the ground and soaring through the air with his monsters, riding atop a familiar scarlet dragon with two differently colored eyes, a boy I had never seen but whose face was repeated in all these lives, the same face with the same softly curved cheek…

The vision dissolved, my monsters disappeared, and their heavy presence lifted. I was lying on the projection plane with my arms covering my head, trying to make sense of the vision my monsters had given me. Four boys with one face—or perhaps only one boy?—whom I’d never met but who had seemed so familiar in each image. I balled up my fist and pounded it against the cold surface of the projection plane. How was this an answer to my desperate request? What was I supposed to do with visions of four children—one child—whom I didn’t even know? How could that possibly help?

The pain in my feet was becoming hard to ignore. Slowly, ghostlike, I made my way back across the lab. The lab coat I had worn for the photo op on Monday was hanging off my desk chair, so I dragged it with me and pulled it around my shoulders. My deck was still scattered all over the floor but I ignored it, instead leaving the main lab to clamber under Kari’s desk for the first-aid kit she kept there. On the restroom floor I blotted the sticky blood off of my feet with wet paper towels and dabbed each tiny cut with antiseptic. The gash on my arm from the Dark Rebellion Dragon’s tusk—I’d nearly forgotten about it—was beginning to sting as well. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, my brain pounding a repeating series of moments from the past few hours. His intimate words, his kiss, my desire. His dragons, appearing one by one, the drumlike heartbeat that pounded to sustain them. His manic, frenzied eyes as he had refused to let them go, even to spare his own life. His half-lit face, looming at me through the dark room. My temptation to end his reign simply by destroying those precious monsters, my shame, his rage. His hand around my throat.

I had no idea what time it was, but if my father saw me in this state there were hardly any excuses I could make for my unshod, cut-up feet, the gash in my shoulder, my ripped dress and tear-streaked makeup. There was a little money in my desk that I kept for group lunch orders, plenty for the taxi fare, but no spare shoes. I kept the lab coat around my shoulders; it was comforting, it smelled like my father. I was almost out the door when I had a thought, turned around, and went back inside the test lab to gather my deck of cards off the floor. My duel disk was in the desk drawer, and I took that too.

The taxi driver didn’t ask questions, and father, thankfully, had already gone to sleep when I arrived at home. I peeled off my dress and left it on the floor, avoiding looking into any of the mirrors as I pulled on an old nightshirt and threadbare cotton shorts and crawled between the sheets of my own bed.

This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. This wasn’t what I had wanted. I wanted to be with him, but he wasn’t the man I thought, he never had been. He never could be. I’d been daydreaming all this time, misled by my foolish whims. I really was the same as everyone else. Our magazines served him up as a guilty pleasure, but now all I had was the guilt.

_I wanted to be with you, I wanted to wrap myself up in you, I wanted to touch your skin and feel your soul beneath_ …

I punched my pillow, new tears starting in my eyes. Everything was all wrong. In another world, it might have worked. In another life we could have woken up together on softly-lit mornings and fallen asleep entangled every night, sighing in contentment pressed against each other’s skin. If the world hadn’t been cruel, if he hadn’t been so alone that he had drowned himself in the voices of his monsters and become a monster himself. If his soul had swung the other way…

My head was heavy, my breathing slowed…

A boy, walking through the halls. He wore a tailored uniform that was a different color from the other schoolchildren in the hallway, who stood aside and avoided his gaze with a mixture of reverence and fear.

A boy, smeared with grease, frowning with his tongue between his lips as he gingerly fixed a gear to his half-built machine. He looked over at me, smiling in earnest, asking if he had done it right, seeking my approval.

A boy, wrapped in a tattered cloak, crouching in a hiding place while the city beyond him burned. He reached out for my hand. He was strong, we would keep each other safe. _It will be okay,_ he said, _They won’t find us here._

A boy, his arms outstretched while glittering colored lights danced around him as he rode atop his favorite monster, his dual-eyed dragon. I’d grown up with him, right by his side. We shared the same dreams, we did everything together, made each other stronger, and his joyful face made me smile. I’d be by his side forever, just like I always had, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

I really did love that boy. That innocent, joyful boy with the shining smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two chapters, 9 and 10, were painful to write, as I'm sure they were to read given how ugly this situation becomes for both of them. It was important for me in structuring this story to have those qualities that Ray finds fascinating and endearing about Zarc, his loneliness and his ability to hear the monsters, to be exactly the qualities that make him so dangerous. Ray is, of course, a product of the society she lives in, influenced by the warped perspective on him that she sees and hears everywhere and gradually forgetting her (perhaps wiser) reservations.
> 
> That being said, there is still more to be revealed about Zarc and Ray's feelings for each other, and as always, your kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> \--  
> Chapter 11: Projection


	11. Projection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review the rating and archive warnings!

 

>  In the darkness, when you're met by yourself
> 
> No illusions, just your mind and your health,
> 
> Still feels so unreal.
> 
> When the words said play around in your head,
> 
> When your conscience takes away every breath,
> 
> Still feels so unreal.

—Jack in Water, “Epicurists”

* * *

 

I woke with a jolt. It was still early, and the cold sunlight was still only a hint in the sky, but I found that I couldn’t sleep anymore. The cuts in my feet were stinging, my head was pounding. I dragged myself into the shower and stood there for way too long.

_I want you to watch me, Ray. Watch me tomorrow. It’ll be a performance like you’ve never seen before._

I squeezed my eyes shut and let the hot water run directly into my face, maybe hoping it would burn the memory of him out of my mind. I’d gotten drunk, that was all. I’d gotten drunk on strawberry-garnished champagne and enticing cologne, on warm eyes and sultry photographs. I’d followed a sweet sillage farther and farther away from my better judgement for the taste of something good on my lips. This was just the part where I regretted it afterward. The part where I was disgusted with myself. But even if I knew I should have stayed away from him, that I was better off this way, why did it have to hurt so badly?

Father had left me a note explaining that he had gone to the arena early and didn’t want to wake me, and that I should meet him there before the Exhibition began. There was a plate of breakfast waiting for me in the fridge, but I didn’t feel hungry; the bitterness was already filling my stomach.

The Exhibition wouldn’t begin until the evening. I tried to go back to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes I saw his face, his hand reaching out for my throat. I paced around the house, occasionally trying to eat. It was no good. 

After several hours of listless brooding, I realized I’d never gotten dressed. The cuts in my feet were bright red, stinging with every step, and the gash on my shoulder was turning into a tender scab. I pulled on a simple outfit of leggings and a short dress with long sleeves; comfortable, high-necked to cover the dark bruises on my throat. I tied up my hair just to keep it out of my face, nothing elaborate, but I couldn’t forego a layer of makeup because the side of my face where he’d struck me with his fist was also blooming.

I’d placed my duel disk with my long-unused deck on my bedside table last night as I’d come home, and before I left I retrieved it and attached it to my wrist.

 

The gates to the arena weren’t open to admit the spectators yet, but crowds were already forming outside in the plaza, groups of families and friends excitedly comparing seat numbers and speculating wildly on whether their favorite Elite really stood a chance against Supreme King Zarc. A giant illuminated marquee on the roof flashed huge photographs of each Elite, and I averted my gaze from it. I didn’t want to see his face, but the sound of his name repeated around me brought his words back into my mind.

_It will be magnificent, you’ll see. The likes of which the world has never seen. The greatest performance, greater than they could ever imagine._

It didn’t make sense. What could he do? He was convinced that he was a puppet to their desires but he was just as easily the piper, enchanting everyone to sing along to his tune until no one knew who was really leading the chorus. The only thing I could be sure of was that as long as he had his stage, this couldn’t end well.

I steeled myself. I had to try to end this.

My staff badge allowed me through the employee entrance, and my footsteps echoed through the empty foyer as I headed straight for the elevator that would take me to the top office. Mr. Shino’s office, at the end of the hall, with its fancy double doors—

“Stop the Exhibition!” I flung the door open so forcefully that it swung all the way around and banged off the wall to punctuate my demand.

Shino was at his desk, surrounded by a small group of businessmen in dark suits. It looked like they were celebrating with drinks.

“Excuse me, Miss Akaba?” Shino stood up from his desk chair in surprise.

I paused, trying to catch up with my impulse. I hadn’t thought of what to say next. 

“Stop the Exhibition?” Shino repeated with a bemused laugh, “What on earth for? We’ve sold out every seat in the stadium.”

“I just—” I stared at the floor, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed to have barged in on all these gentlemen, “I just think the machine needs more testing. I don’t think it’s ready.”

Shino humored me with what he must’ve meant as a knowing smile. “Young lady, you worked for months to ensure that the machine was working perfectly with its new components and we are all excited to witness the fruit of your labor this evening. Your father was confident earlier today after his final inspections that everything will run smoothly with your new technology. I’m sure you’re just quite tired. It will be magnificent, you’ll see.” My lip trembled at the phrase, but he crossed the room to pick up a flute glass from a tray by the window that overlooked the arena, and pressed the stem into my hand. “Please relax, you deserve to celebrate.”

I looked down at the glass. Champagne.

My hand twitched convulsively and the glass smashed on the hardwood floor. I stammered an apology and turned on my heel to charge back out of the room without making eye contact with anyone.

“Miss Akaba!” I heard someone push through the door behind me, “Please, miss, wait a moment.”

Shino had followed me out into the hall, his office door closing behind him to block the curious stares of his finely-dressed peers. He put his arm around me in what he must have intended to be a kind, avuncular way.

“I know this is all very stressful,” he said, and I got the impression that he was choosing his words carefully, “But you have nothing to worry about.” He dropped his voice to a reassuring whisper, “He seems especially confident today. More so than I’ve seen before. I’m sure he’s well-prepared.”

Shino had sent out my invitation to the gala at the Majestic Hotel at Zarc’s demand, he had dragged me forward during the photo-op to be featured next to Zarc. Clearly he was under the mistaken impression he was a confidante to some secret affair between us, and that I was worried sick about the safety of my lover in this grisly competition.

“He should be in his dressing room below the stadium by now; I’m sure he’d be pleased to see you before the match.”

I shook my head. I looked up at Shino; I knew he had only ever paid attention to me because he thought I was an accessory to Zarc’s favor. Zarc was the star of his arena, his crowd’s favorite son, but he might also be one of the few other people who had had a private conversation with Zarc in recent weeks. I didn’t know what Zarc was planning—but Shino’s interests lay solely in the popularity of his performers that brought spectators streaming through the gates.

“This could do a lot of damage, Mr. Shino,” I said, trying to keep the strain out of my voice, “If—if the Exhibition ends badly, if the people don’t get the resolution they want…”

He chuckled, such an unfitting sound that tightened my anxiety further. “You know as well as I do how exquisitely gifted he is.” He nodded to himself and then patted me on the shoulder. “I’ve been hosting duelists in my arena for years and years, and I’ve never seen anyone like him. And if you ask me,” his voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper, “His performances ever since that party at the Stardust Hotel have seemed even more brilliant than before. I’m certain that you inspired him. He never seemed the type for involvement, but I’m an old man, I’veseen this plenty of times. I can always tell when a young man is in—”

“I need to find my father,” I said quickly as I turned away, not able to bear the word I was sure Shino was about to say, “He asked me to meet him before the show.”

Shino looked slightly taken aback by my abrupt change of subject, but seemed to think better than to continue making veiled remarks about my relationship with Zarc. “Yes, ah—your father should be checking in with the RSV control team right about now, but he’ll join you in the stands. You should head there now; the stadium gates will open soon and you’ll have to fight through the crowds.”

“Thank you,” I said hastily, and then turned and charged down the hall as fast as my stinging feet would take me before he could say anything else.

I flashed my staff badge to take the shortcuts down to the arena house. It had been a long time since I’d sat here to watch a duel, and even now I fought with my own desire to just run home and hide until the whole thing was over. I could just let Kari tell me all about it on Monday, how gruesome and fantastic it was, whatever horrific plan Zarc had laid out to bring his audience to contrition turned around on him as they applauded for him. There was nothing he’d do that they wouldn’t love.

_Yes, what a victim you are._

Kari found me in the seats gratuitously reserved for our department not long after the stadium gates opened, carrying a flat rectangular box and with Danny in tow. She was wearing an indigo-blue tulip dress with a jaunty neckerchief and had done up her hair for the evening, as though she were attending an opera instead of a duel show.

“Such great seats!” she exclaimed, bursting me out of my dread-induced reverie, “Oh Ray, you look cute, I like your makeup.” She settled herself into the seat next to me with Danny on her other side. “Sooooo,” she leaned in next to me and spoke in a low tone, “Did you talk to _him_ at all this week? Any idea what he’s got planned?”

I shook my head jerkily to dismiss her question. It was easier to avoid the topic altogether than to construct a lie, and I was already too focused on not vomiting to open my mouth.

Kari “hmph”ed and engaged Danny in the same circular speculations I’d heard her expounding on the phone all week. The Exhibition would begin in forty-five minutes. She chatted to me idly about how she and Danny had finally decided on a design for their wedding invitations, wondered if I was free next weekend to try on a few wedding dresses—“I’m not expecting to find _the_ one yet, just wanted to get an idea of what I like, you know? And since you’re a bridesmaid…”

I was barely listening, providing generic responses to Kari’s rambling so she wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t paying attention. The arena floor was dimly lit and empty. The large, prismatic crystal hanging from the ceiling was designed to reflect the action on the arena floor to into a holographic projection for the audience, but in the low light it was projecting a similar marquee as the larger screens outside, flicking back and forth between the faces of the Elites and a countdown until the show would begin. I let my eyes go out of focus, carefully avoiding the marquee and allowing myself to be mesmerized by the light glinting off the crystal’s many facets.

Danny got up to get drinks for himself and Kari, leaving her alone with me in our row. She leaned over a little closer to me. “Ray, how did you get that bruise on your face?”

I jumped, broken out of my brooding again, and immediately put my hand over my cheek to cover the mark, which must have still been detectable to Kari’s shrewd eyes even under my thick layer of makeup.

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, casting around for a believable lie, “I…I walked home through the park last night and I tripped into the—”

“Fine,” Kari said, immediately turning away from me to cut off my explanation. She knew I was lying. Then she turned back, opening her mouth to start saying something, but apparently thought better of it, and left off. We sat in silence for several awkward minutes. I felt guilty. Kari was, by all accounts, my only friend. I’d pushed her away from my honest feelings and even now I couldn’t bear to admit what had happened. How could I? Zarc was her hero, she was going to marry someone she’d met because of their mutual admiration of him. To confess that he’d misled me and manipulated my work and gone insane from his ambition to bring his monsters to life…it felt too unkind to her. I had been such a terrible friend already, I couldn’t bear to make it worse. Just like my father, I couldn’t bring myself to say a word.

“Um, do you want one?” Kari said finally. I looked over and saw that she’d opened the flat rectangular box she’d brought, and was offering me a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries. They were plump and bright, finely coated in swirls of dark and white chocolate, but somehow they looked distinctly unappetizing to me. I shook my head.

Danny came back as our section filled in, and my father joined us not long after, dropping into his seat beside me with an exasperated groan.

“Our _star of the show_ —” he punctuated the phrase with bitter emphasis, “—was four hours late. We asked all the Elites to be here at ten o’clock to pair their duel disks with the main RSV unit downstairs and make sure everything was working properly in their separate Field Channels, but he didn’t show for that setup. They sent a car downtown for him, couldn’t find him at his house, got no information out of the bodyguards there about where he was, got no response from their calls. Shino was beside himself, until finally our ‘Supreme King’ decided to show up a couple hours ago. I’d only just finished pairing his disk into the RSV unit before I headed to the panel room to set up my communication line. He’d somehow managed to unhook the auxiliary module from his disk, and when I tried to hook it back in it was like the thing had burned out from improper use. I had to connect him up with a new one. Honestly, no respect for the work we did…”

I nodded, too numb by now to think of anything to say. 

“Anyway,” my father went on, tapping the small contraption that was hooked around his ear, “The control panel hooked me up with a radio so I can get a live feed of the data generated by the reactor during the duels. And then I can communicate with them if I see anything unusual from up here. But it looks like everything is going to be just fine.”

I pulled in a breath and held it, and laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, hoping I might simply stop breathing at all. He put his arm around me.

I might have dropped off to sleep, because it seemed like only a moment before—

“IT IS TIME!” the announcement boomed over the crowd, and the stadium floor began dancing with light. I raised my head, my heart suddenly pounding with anticipation and a fresh wave of dread. “WELCOME TO THE MOST EXCITING EVENT EVER HOSTED BY THE PRO DUELING LEAGUE, THE EXHIBITION MATCH OF THE ELITES!”

The stadium burst into wild applause and cheers. Kari was clapping enthusiastically and I heard Danny whistle through his teeth on her other side.

“THE AETHER ARENA IS PROUD TO PRESENT, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO—”

Kari squealed in hysterical excitement and grabbed onto Danny’s arm.

“—THE ICON OF THE ARENA, THE STORM OF THE STAGE, YOUR ONE AND ONLY CHAMPION—”

The lights on the arena floor plunged into darkness, and there was a collective gasp as the audience held its excited breath.

“—SUPREME KING ZARC!!”

The stadium exploded with applause and screams even more thunderous than before as the spotlights punctured the darkness on the arena floor. I felt the auditorium tremble as the members of our section stamped their feet and Kari almost sprang out of her chair.

Zarc was there, standing on a platform projected from the RSV system below, centered in the spotlights as holographic lights danced around him, catching in the facets of the prismatic crystal above his head. The crystal projected four more of him to the corners of the stadium, and I had no choice but to look into his face as my stomach lurched with dread and disgust.

His face split into a wide grin, welcoming his audience with a grandiose bow. He allowed the crowd to cheer him for another moment, and then spread his arms wide as the crowd hushed for him to address them.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, and Kari sighed in adoration beside me, “It is my great honor to be your King.”

Another round of applause, and this time he allowed it to fade. He kept his arms outstretched to his audience, and spoke in a clear, strong voice—

“Tonight shall determine whether there is any duelist worthy to succeed me as Champion!”

Zarc stepped off of his pillar into what seemed to be thin air, but a stair appeared just in time to catch his footstep right where the Real SolidVision projected it. He walked deftly across the air, caught each time by a projected step, perfectly timed, each step taking him down slowly to the arena floor as the spotlight followed him.

“If it should be,” he continued, his voice both calm and grandiose all at once as he descended, “That one of my challengers takes my place…” The audience let out a collective moan of lament, and Zarc allowed himself a moment to grin indulgently at their reaction, “I hope to leave you with the greatest entertainment, the most magnificent spectacle that you have ever seen.”

Each of Zarc’s steps were punctuated by a drumbeat as he descended to the arena floor. His final footstep placed him right at the center of the field, and the platform and the projected staircase melted away into glittering particles as the arena was plunged once again into complete darkness, save for the single spotlight upon Zarc and the crystal projections directly above him.

“HOWEVER!” he bellowed suddenly, thrusting a decisive finger into the air as the drumbeat intensified, “I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED!”

The crowd roared its approval at his words.

“I WILL NOT BE REPLACED!”

Kari bounced in her seat and squealed with unbridled glee.

“THIS IS MY STAGE AND I WILL NOT BE OVERSHADOWED!”

The floor beneath me shook as the crowd once again began stomping its feet with abandon. From our section I heard someone cry, “Destroy them, Zarc! Destroy them!”

“SHOW ME MY FIRST OPPONENT!”

The crystal holograms changed from reflecting Zarc to a render of all four of the challenging Elites; Diesel, Rugen, Flintlock, and Jericho, each facing a different corner of the stadium. The projections began to spin like spokes in a wheel, faster and faster until they were nothing but a blur of color. Neither Zarc nor any of the Elites would know which of the four of them would take the first duel, until—

Zarc snapped his fingers, and the spinning stopped abruptly, showing not four different Elites, but only one: Flintlock would start off this Exhibition. The crowd cheered again as Zarc lowered his hand to point at the doors to the arena floor opposite as a spotlight illuminated where Flintlock emerged, looking resolute but somewhat tensely composed. The rest of the Elites must be behind that door, waiting to see if they would be chosen next while they watched the action on a monitor.

It took longer for the crowd to stop cheering, as Zarc waited with folded arms for the din to die down so Flintlock could issue his challenge.

“Your reign is over, Supreme King!” he shouted, “I have been waiting for this day!”

It was canned, rehearsed. Zarc grinned again, and turned his back on his opponent to move to the opposite side of the field as the spotlight continued to follow him.

“I know it was a random selection,” Kari leaned in to whisper to me, “But Flintlock is the newest of the Elites. He doesn’t have as much experience. This almost seems unfair, it’s too easy.”

As the two duelists took their places on either side of the field and the dramatic music swelled to open the first duel, I wondered if the lineup of challengers to Zarc was not actually random. It was possible that they might have been chosen ahead of time to create an ideal dramatic ascent, ending with the most magnificent and intense final victory. This was Zarc’s stage, his performance, his world. Nothing was a surprise. 

Zarc graciously gestured for Flintlock to take the first turn, snapped his fingers again to shower the stadium in light as a new set of platforms and obstacles appeared as solid projections on the field, and the duel began.

But it didn’t last very long. Flintlock was certainly a brutal duelist, but Zarc met him at every turn. Flintlock’s specialty was wielding a combination of fire and machine creatures to deal out effect damage, but Zarc negated everything he attempted, ducking and rolling as Flintlock’s projectiles flew around him and his low-level monsters. I couldn’t even follow his technique; he moved so quickly and played so deftly. I’d never paid close attention to any of Zarc’s recent duels, assuming his showmanship overrated his technique, but he made Flintlock look like an amateur. I could see why the League had been hesitant to pit their Elites against one another; it was humiliating. A smattering of Flintlock’s fans in our section groaned and hid their faces in their hands as all of his famous strategies fell uselessly to Zarc’s wildly unpredictable play. By the end of the third round, Flintlock was down by thirteen hundred points, and Zarc had still taken no damage, even despite losing all but one of his monsters.

With a frustrated grimace, Flintlock gave up on his ineffective tactics. “You’re in for it now, Supreme King!” he shouted, and with a flick of his wrist held out a Spell card, which the crystal above the crowd projected for us: _Polymerization_.

“A Fusion monster?” Zarc replied in a goading tone, “Show me!”

“I added this to my deck _just for you_ , Supreme King! A new beast that you could not have anticipated, a creature like you’ve never seen before!”  
I rolled my eyes at the tacky line and put my chin in my hands as the monster appeared; the massive steel-horned artillery monster, _Ignition Beast Volcannon_.

It took a moment for the crowd to catch on. Even I didn’t quite make the connection until the audience started to chuckle and murmur to each other. The projected screen trained on Zarc’s face and he stared at the monster in a sort of amused disbelief, as though Flintlock were trying to make a joke. But Flintlock looked nonplussed, staring out at the audience as though trying to understand why his monster was being met with laughter and derision instead of the impressed gasp he was expecting.

“A creature like I’ve never seen before!?” Zarc cried, barely containing his laughter, “Are you sure?”

Whether it was planned or just a beautiful coincidence, I couldn’t be sure. But the crystal above the audience switched from its live feed to project a recorded piece of footage, one that I’d seen before and which brought the audience into gleeful excitement: three years ago, when Zarc’s attack had sent a duelist’s monster rebounding right onto him, shattering the bones in his shoulder. Zarc’s first wound, the start of his career, he owed in part to the same monster: _Ignition Beast Volcannon_. 

The audience was in peals of laughter. Flintlock looked livid, enraged that what he thought would be a step toward his victory had turned on him into a reminder to everyone about Zarc’s fame and influence. It was painfully perfect irony.

“Flintlock wasn’t around three years ago,” Kari said beside me, “But this just shows that he didn’t do any research about Zarc’s career. Now he just looks like an idiot.”

Zarc was grinning, waiting for Flintlock to call his next move. 

“So—so you know what happens next!” Flintlock sneered, but his voice cracked with panic and frustration, “Volcannon can destroy itself and take your monster—” he pointed theatrically at the single monster Zarc had on the field, “—down with it, and inflict your monster’s attack as damage!”

Before Zarc could react, Volcannon pointed its great bores right at Zarc and fired an explosive round. The crowd screamed and leapt out of their seats as Zarc and his monster were both enveloped in flames and smoke, and the crystal’s projections went ominously blank. Beside me I heard Kari whisper to Danny, “There’s no way!” shaking her head vigorously with her eyes fixed on the field.

But then the smoke cleared, and the crowd erupted again in cheers and shouts. His monsters were all gone, but Zarc himself was standing on a high platform, far above where he’d been only moments ago. Kari clapped and whistled along with the crowd, and leaned in to shout to me, “I told you he wouldn’t lose that easily!”

Once the tumult from the audience had abated, Zarc’s voice issued clearly over the stadium.

“You may have managed to destroy my last monster,” he conceded, “But you’ve clearly underestimated me. I’ll have none of that damage.”

A face-down card on his field flipped up to reveal _Hallowed Life Barrier._ He grinned, and Flintlock spat on the arena floor in rage as Zarc’s lifepoints remained at their perfect four thousand. 

“The Battle Phase is over,” Flintlock growled, “But I can still use this!” He activated his own face-down card, and the crowd applauded to see _Re-Fusion_ appear. “I’ll pay out eight hundred lifepoints and bring back Volcannon!”

The crystal projected the change in the score, and the gigantic barrel-backed monster rose out of the floor of the arena and fixed its sights on Zarc again. Zarc’s grin widened.

“That’ll end my turn!” Flintlock called up at Zarc. “You’ve got no monsters, Supreme King!”

“No,” Zarc returned with unnerving complacency, “But I’m bored of you.” 

The crowd whooped and jeered as Flintlock glowered at Zarc’s smugly smiling face.

“I must say, that is an impressive Fusion monster,” Zarc called out to Flintlock, and then turned to the crowd to cry, “Would you like to see mine?”

The audience answered with a thunderous, “Yes! Yes! Show us!” and Kari started bouncing up and down in her seat again like a child at a circus. 

“The Fusion one is so _nasty_!” she shouted in my ear, “It’s _over_!”

Sure enough, out of the materials from his hand sprang the lithe, serpentine dragon, its tail like a hooked whip, its bulbous arms, its salivating jaws between its downturned horns: “Poisonous dragon with hungry fangs, Starving Venom Fusion Dragon!”

“Oh, it’s you,” I muttered to myself, remembering how this dragon had wanted nothing to do with me when Zarc had introduced me to it in the lab. I’d laughed when it had wrapped its coils greedily around its master, but there was no way I was going to laugh now.

The creature twitched and writhed on the field, waiting to be commanded.

“First,” Zarc began, “I’ll equip my beautiful dragon with this, and it will not be destroyed.”

The card _Dragon Shield_ flashed over the Starving Venom Dragon.

“And then,” he went on, “I’ll activate my monster’s effect: he can gain your beast’s attack on top of his own.”

The dragon’s attack rose up to fifty-two hundred points. The projection above the stadium cut to a closeup of Flintlock’s face as he stared from the shielded Starving Venom Dragon to his own Volcannon and then down to the cards in his hand, looking pallid and clammy.

“But also!” Zarc raised his hand to continue, “Starving Venom Fusion Dragon can take over your monster’s effect! It can destroy both itself and your monster! But with Dragon Shield attached…?” He opened his palm to invite the audience to finish the explanation for him.

The audience answered him in a chorus: “The dragon will not be destroyed!”

“Exactly!” he responded, “So only _your_ monster is removed from the field, Flintlock!”

The Starving Venom Dragon snaked forward in a swift, lithe movement and wrapped its coils around Volcannon’s neck, squeezing and squeezing until the monster exploded in a shower of glittering sparks as Flintlock winced. The dragon returned to Zarc, coiling this time around its master’s shoulders, and Zarc reached up to stroke its salivating jaw.

“So,” Zarc said, and the cheering from the stadium fell quiet, “You’ve got no monsters, and no cards left on the field. Do you have any last words?”

Flintlock stared desperately at his hand of cards, his deck, his small cluster of breathless fans in the crowd, and then finally behind him at the doors to the arena floor. The projections from the crystal focused on his face, shining with sweat and panic as he backed, slowly, toward the arena doors, getting ready to run away.

“Well?” Zarc folded his arms.

“Y-you’ll be defeated!” Flintlock shrieked, and his voice cracked in terror, “Your reign will end tonight! My legacy will—”

“That’s enough,” Zarc said, and out of the dragon’s back suddenly shot snakelike vines that coiled instantly around Flintlock’s body, filling his mouth so he could only make indistinct choking sounds.

Zarc looked on a bit lazily, before he leapt down the series of raised platforms to stand on the arena floor. The platforms dissolved, and the stadium went dark once again, all except for the spotlights trained on Zarc, his dragon, and Flintlock.

“Now,” Zarc said, “I’m going to need everyone to be very quiet.”

The audience obeyed, and I felt a wave of cold dread flood into my stomach.

“Starving Venom, make your direct attack.”

The stadium held its breath. The vines that bound Flintlock’s limbs tightened and his microphone amplified his muffled, throaty screams as the monster began to twist him at the core, slowly, agonizingly…

I stared down at the scene on the arena floor. I didn’t want to watch, didn’t want to see this, but I couldn’t look away. The silence was deafening; the only noise was Flintlock’s desperate whimpers and shrieks as the monster twisted him, his neck and face contorting opposite his torso as Zarc watched with a cold smile.

And from the back of my mind floated, unbidden, that vision again of the lonely boy—that boy I’d never met, but who _seemed so familiar_ —who walked through hallways of averted eyes, who glanced out at courtyard of children laughing and playing in groups, laughing and gossiping and chasing each other around, until the lonely boy in his formal violet uniform looked away, and continued walking steadily down that buttressed hallway—

_SNAP._

The crowd exploded in cheers and stamping, whooping and hollering as Kari leapt to her feet and shrieked with excitement at the sound. I stayed in my seat, as did my father. He passed a hand over his eyes and patted my hand shakily, as we watched the dragon loosen its coils from around Flintlock’s limp, unnaturally contorted body and dropped him with a punctuated dull thud on the arena floor. Some of Flintlock’s fans in the row in front of us were sobbing, but most of the audience was cheering, roaring with approval as the spotlight on Flintlock’s body was extinguished so only Zarc remained visible.

Zarc waved and smiled with ingratiating magnetism as the crystal above the arena floor projected his face again. He let the applause fade away gradually, waiting for the excitement to boil down into feverish apprehension.

“And so our opening act comes to a close,” he said, in a voice that might have been quiet were it not amplified to echo around the stadium. No feigned eulogy for his victim, no condolences to Flintlock’s fans. Just entertainment as usual.

Out of the stands someone, taking advantage of the audience’s breathless silence, shouted, “Show us more, Zarc!”

Other voices called out from around the stadium, calling out _more! more! more!_

I might have been the only person to notice, even as I watched his face projected above the audience, that for a split second his lip twitched into a hateful lour. 

“Oh, stop it,” I breathed, as his voice echoed in my ears, not from the amplifying microphone, but from my memory of last night: _All anyone in this cruel, selfish world wants to do is consume me, slake their desires on me, soak me in their bloodlust and string me up to dance for them…_ “Stop it, please…”

But then he fell back into his ingratiating smile, stretched out a hand to call for silence, and said with aplomb, “Oh, but isn’t that what you all came for? As you wish—!” and he pointed forcibly up at the hanging crystal again, where the faces of the remaining three Elites appeared again. They began to spin as they had done before, as the fanfare blared over a thudding drumbeat to summon the next opponent.

The spinning slowed, the fanfare reached a decisive pitch, and—Diesel’s face was projected all around the arena. The second opponent. The second victim.

Diesel had been in the same string of the Pro League as I was, back before Zarc’s influence had turned dueling into the Real Fights. At the time my win rate was about on par with his, and I’d gone head-to-head with him a small handful of times before he became an Elite. Of course, I knew him back then as Yagi Goro, but in the Real Fights he’d taken his nickname to remind his opponents that his monsters could run them down like war machines.

“I’ll flatten you!” Diesel shouted out to Zarc, by way of a challenge. “I’ll grind your bones into the floor!”  
“By all means,” Zarc said with a laugh of casual confidence.

The stadium burst into light again, new obstacles and platforms projected onto the field, and the second duel began.

It was much the same as the first. Diesel’s strategy pulled out all the stops; all his heavy machines filling his field to barrage Zarc with a series of devastating attacks that Zarc dodged and negated with unmatched perfection. It was like Diesel’s only purpose was to make Zarc look even better; playing the heel, the useless buffoon of an opponent. From the projected play-by-play I could see Diesel’s face get more and more anxious, angry, panicked, until—

“I think the charade has gone on long enough,” Zarc called out to the crowd, who applauded their agreement in turn. “Your little toy trucks are impressive, Diesel, but I have someone who’d like to meet you.”

And from the Tuning and Effect monsters laid out protectively on Zarc’s field came the beautifully-projected hoops—we’d perfected this animation at length in the lab—and the stars aligned though them to shoot a beam of bright white light. The stadium lights dimmed to enhance this effect, and out of the beam of light burst another dragon, soaring on gleaming transparent wings, its blunt face and strong jaws—

“ Spread those wondrous and beautiful wings,  Clear Wing Synchro Dragon!” Zarc cried, and the dragon looped and spiraled about the arena to yet another wave of raucous applause. Zarc raised his hand as the dragon passed by him, stroking the long, sweeping body as it settled beside him on the field, waiting for orders.

“This fellow simply _loves_ machinery,” Zarc called out to Diesel. “He can’t wait to _disassemble_ your monsters!”

Machinery…

Without thinking, barely knowing what I was saying, I whispered to myself, “No no, he likes to build things…”

“What?” Kari said, but I shook my head to fend off her question.

“So as you might imagine,” Zarc continued, “He’ll be a perfect match for you, Diesel. Isn’t that right?” He patted the Clear Wing Dragon’s wriggling thorax, and the monster responded with a roar of agreement.

“Gosh, the programming team did a great job making the monsters look lifelike!” Kari exclaimed to me, clapping with the others in the audience. “It’s like it’s _real_ , you know?”

I nodded.

It was hard to watch. The Clear Wing Dragon swooped on Diesel’s monsters, and, like the first duel with Flintlock, none of Diesel’s strategies seemed to make any mark on Zarc’s lifepoints. Diesel was an Elite; I would have expected him to put up more of a fight, but it was pitiful. Diesel tried to target the Clear Wing Dragon with his monsters’ effects, but it backfired; the dragon negated their battle effects, destroyed Diesel’s monsters and gained their attack strength, viciously hurling wheels and gears at Diesel as the dragon ripped each monster apart. Diesel ran, jumped, dodged to the whoops and jeers of the crowd. Even from here I could see how angry he was becoming. In the duels in his own tournaments he was the champion, he was the center of attention, but now he was the fool getting backed onto the ropes. Nothing could help him. The Clear Wing Dragon roared in enjoyment, and its six-fingered claws pried apart the third of Diesel’s four monsters and flung the debris all over the field like a gleeful child unwrapping gifts. Diesel had to run and jump as the flying pieces of his destroyed monsters flew at him and clanged discordantly on the floor around his feet.

“I’m afraid your monsters are his toys now,” Zarc said in mock-thoughtfulness as he looked on. “But you don’t seem to want to play?”

Diesel dodged again, but—the exhaust pipe from his own destroyed monster came flying at him, and he timed his jump poorly. The resounding _clang_ and following scream of pain echoed around the stadium as the audience gasped, and roared with approval. Diesel clutched at his broken shinbone and writhed on the floor, screaming in agony.

“Well, that turn went badly for you, didn’t it?” the Clear Wing Dragon swooped back to Zarc’s side. “Are you done?”

“I…” Diesel gasped, moaning in pain on the ground as he held his broken leg, “I lay…one card…face down…and end my turn.”

The face-down card flashed momentarily on the field, and then faded away.  
Just like the previous duel, Zarc was standing high above his opponent. He folded his arms. “Oh? You think you have something that can save you? We’ll see.”

The crystal projector flashed a closeup image of Diesel’s face, his teeth gritted in pain as sweat dripped from his jaws, his eyes defiant and enraged.

“Since you were foolish enough to activate Clear Wing’s effect, he now has the added attack strength of your destroyed monsters,” Zarc reminded him, though he addressed the crowd more so than Diesel. “What do you all think will happen once my dragon attacks your last monster?”  
The crowd roared a tumult of their answers, feet stomping, fists shaking and thumbs pointing downward.

“That’s right, that’s right,” Zarc said, “Your lifepoints will be at zero.”

“That’s what you think,” Diesel replied, but his shaking, pained voice was weak and unimpressive.

“Well then, let’s find out!” Zarc’s voice strengthened in volume, more drumbeats and fanfares of music followed his intensity. The dragon rose high above him, and a programmed flare of sparks erupted out of the arena floor, beautifully projected, and they burst like fireworks above all our heads in the audience. Zarc’s show was moving without a hitch. Everything perfectly planned, nothing out of place.

“Clear Wing Synchro Dragon,” he called out, “Attack his final monster!”

The dragon writhed in compliance, slicing through the air to clamp Diesel’s last monster between its huge claws. It raised the great, heavy machine above the heads of the audience to hover precariously above Diesel’s prostrate body. He couldn’t run away; he couldn’t move. He was going to be crushed by his own monster. The drumbeat intensified, the crowd went silent again in quivering anticipation, but—

“I—I activate,” Diesel panted, “I activate _Impenetrable Attack_ ,” —the card reappeared on the field, flipping up to reveal its face—“and I choose…to negate all battle damage to myself…during this phase…”

Zarc unfolded his arms, raising an eyebrow in surprise. The crowd began to jeer again, denouncing the choice of Trap effect that Diesel had activated. “ _Coward_!” they cried, “ _Take it like a man_!”  


But high above Diesel on his untouchable pillar, Zarc began to laugh. The crowd followed suit, until—

“You won’t win!” Diesel shrieked, “You can make you attack, but you won’t win! I will go down undefeated!”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Zarc said, still laughing, “What an exciting twist you’ve planned! You want to end it your way, do you? I can make my attack but you _won’t_ take the damage?”

The Clear Wing Dragon whined with impatience, ready to drop the monster but waiting for Zarc’s command. So this was Diesel’s legacy, to take the attack but not the damage, and lose by technicality, just to shame Zarc in his last act. Zarc had always been careful to keep his opponents alive until the final blow, a real win for the game as his opponents themselves were destroyed.

“Do it!” Diesel screamed back. “Make your attack! Do it!”

“But this is so much fun, isn’t it?” Zarc addressed the crowd again, raising his arms to invite their applause. Diesel’s face on the projector glanced in terror up at the Clear Wing Dragon, still holding his heavy machine monster directly over his head, as the crowd applauded their agreement. 

Zarc continued, “I don’t like being humiliated like this. What shall I do…ah, perhaps this?”

And up from his field sprang another Trap card: _Malfunction_.

“I can pay five hundred lifepoints—don’t worry, I have plenty—to negate the activation of your Trap and put it right back where it came from.”

The image of the _Impenetrable Attack_ card flipped back down onto Diesel’s field, and faded away. Diesel roared in anger, but—

“So it looks like you _will_ take the damage after all!”

The crowed applauded in delight.

“Ironic, isn’t it, Diesel?” Zarc taunted the bleeding, pathetic man on the floor, “Didn’t you say at the start of this game that _you_ would flatten _me_?”

Everyone laughed and jeered yet again. That’s right, I remembered, Yagi was always very protective of his pride. Even before his days as the Elite known as Diesel, back when he was just another duelist on my string in the league, he’d always make sure he kept his dignity. How unfitting for him to go out like this, writhing helplessly on the floor in pain while his untouched opponent goaded the whole stadium into taunts and jeers. It would be the last thing he’d hear.

“Clear Wing Synchro Dragon!” Zarc repeated, and the dragon writhed again in response, “Drop it.”

The dragon snorted in compliance. The projection crystal flashed an instantaneous image of Diesel’s face, watching in despair as the Clear Wing Dragon let go of his heavy machine monster to fall—

—Just like it’d let go of me after carrying me around the lab, when he’d held me against his chest and I didn’t want to let go—

I buried my face in my hands right before I heard the deafening crash resound around the arena. Diesel’s microphone squealed and then cut out abruptly, and the tumult from the crowd drowned out even the victorious fanfare of music that played again. Diesel’s lifepoint counter ticked down to zero; Zarc’s second victory of the evening had been secured with hardly any effort. The monsters flickered off of the field and the arena floor went dark again with only a single spotlight on Zarc, so we couldn’t see Diesel at all.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Zarc called out magnanimously again, “It is my pleasure, as always, to _serve_ you.”

Everyone clapped again as he swept into a gracious bow. I balled my hands into fists around the hem of my dress.

“And I will return to you very shortly,” Zarc continued, “Remember—the fun has only _just begun_.”

Everyone clapped at the use of the catchphrase, but to me it sounded distinctly threatening.

He spread his arms wide and kicked off the ground, soaring off of his pillar in a magnificent backflip, and then—vanishing completely in midair in a cloud of glittering smoke. It was an optical illusion, of course, programmed in by the RSV effects team, but the audience cheered once again as the commentator announced that there would now be a twenty-minute intermission. The lights went back up in the stadium, revealing the arena floor again, smooth and empty, with no sign of Yagi Goro’s body. The cleanup was always fast.

“I’m going to stretch my legs a bit,” I said to my father, whose pallid face looked just like how I felt. He nodded, and I sidled my way out of the stands and into the foyer before the throng spilled out for another round of refreshments. I just wanted to be alone for a moment.

I was starting to feel nauseated. I’d been prepared for how this would go, I’d been constantly bombarded with gushing coverage of Zarc’s victories for three years, but it had never felt truly real before, like it was some kind of fiction that was easy to dissociate from. Not until that same hand that had closed around my throat last night had now directed his monsters—those monsters that I’d met, that were childlike and innocent—to murder two of his peers, to the delight of his audience. I’d known, but I’d tried not to think about it. Tried to convince myself that the sweet boy I knew, Yuusha, was not the same as this man who bowed after his grisly performances. I was so stupid.

_Supreme King Zarc lives to serve the crowd. So I can stay on top, so I can keep dueling. I can’t be with them unless I’m dueling. I’m not happy unless I’m dueling…The people want what they want, and they ask for more and more. It’s not enough just to win the game anymore. We have to win them, and keep winning._

“So are you happy now?” I murmured, as I headed down a side corridor after flashing my staff badge to the security guard, “You’re winning. Is this enough?”

There were two duelists left to face Zarc. Maybe one of them would be able to stop him, whatever revenge on his demanding audience he had in mind. Maybe one of them could snuff him out before the end.

I pounded down a back staircase, letting my feet guide me to somewhere familiar and away from the noise. I’d been back here plenty of times earlier this week, the bottom level of the arena, down another corridor that passed the special dressing rooms and the elevators directly up to the entrance to the arena floor, through another card-entry door, and down another dark, grated staircase, to the scaffolding over the huge, whirring Real SolidVision reactor.

It was in standby mode for now, so its projector lenses were emitting a faint inward glow rather than the bright beams it would radiate when it was projecting the solid forms up onto the field above. I breathed, trying to calm myself down a bit. This whirring sound was comforting, another aesthetic I associated with my father; steady and constant. I leaned against the railing of the scaffolding, breathing in the warm, dusty smell of the machine.

An unfamiliar hand suddenly slid between my legs and pinched the inside of my thigh.

I shrieked and whipped around, grabbing the scaffolding rail behind me, to see Rugen, fully dressed in his rugged dueling gear, leering at me in the light of the machine.

“How did you get in here!?” I demanded, as Rugen clamped both his hands around the rail behind me, one on either side of my hips.

“Followed you,” he said, way too close to my face. He smelled like liquor and sweat. “Can’t let a nice piece go to waste. You look tense, babydoll.” He raised his hand and offered me a half-burned cigarette. There was a red lipstick stain around it, as though he’d already shared it with someone else. 

I ignored the gesture and said coldly, “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your strategy? You could be next up.”

I was surprised at his smirk and his derisive laugh. Zarc had just killed two of Rugen’s peers without breaking a sweat.

“He’s already cracking, sweetheart.”

I frowned. “He’s hardly been scratched yet.”

Rugen’s smile widened. “He passed by us after he left the stage and he looks like hell ran him over. This will be easy.”

I didn’t know how to respond to this. Zarc had seemed so calm, so comfortable even after two duels, but if he’d really dropped his pretense to show that he was already strained…

“What say,” Rugen continued, putting his cigarette-free hand on my waist and grinding his thumb into my belly, “You come to my hotel room after this is all over? Victory party, you know. I’ll make you forget all about that boyfriend of yours after I smear his guts on the floor. Well, now,” his eyes fell on the side of my face where Zarc had struck me last night, the bruise beside my eye still visible even under my makeup. He tapped my face with the butt of his cigarette, and then trailed it down my cheek to snatch a glance under the collar of my dress, where the bruises from Zarc’s hand were blossoming on my neck. “Looks like you like it rough.”

“Get off me!” I flung both my arms out to knock his hands away and backed up several paces. I could have just turned and run back up the stairs, but despite my aversion to this foul-smelling man, I was suddenly struck with a thought.

Rugen was still smirking, but rather than chasing me, he simply leaned casually against the scaffold railing, looking me up and down.

“If you want to beat him,” I said slowly, “Don’t let him summon his dragons. Focus on blocking his summons.”

“Sweetheart,” Rugen said with another derisive snort, “I think my monsters are more than capable of—”

“Block all of his higher-level summoning,” I repeated. I tried to sound firm, but I could feel my voice shaking. “I know you all want to make it a big show and destroy each other’s impressive monsters, but you can’t beat him that way. If he gets a dragon on the field, it’s over. Block his summons.”

The smirk was gone from Rugen’s face now. He was staring at me as though he was both curious and impressed. “So why bother telling me?”

I avoided that question. “The game is rigged,” I said, “He’s made it look like a random lottery who gets to duel him next, but he knows. He knows who his next opponent is and he’s already prepared for whatever their signature moves are going to be. The best way to win is to avoid your typical flashy strategies. He’s just going to use them against you.”

“Look, girl, anyone who’s watched half of Zarc’s matches knows his style,” Rugen waved his hand as though to toss away my warning, “I’m as prepared for him as he is for me.”

“So were Flintlock and Diesel,” I said. “They’ve got the bodybags ready and waiting. If you want to just climb right into yours, go right ahead.”

Rugen blinked at me. He seemed somewhat taken aback; I guessed people didn’t typically speak to him bluntly like this. He managed to settle his confident sneer back on his face quickly, and said, “I know what I’m doing, sweetheart. I don’t need your pretty little advice. I’ve been an Elite almost as long as he has and now’s my chance to crush him.”

“You’re just his toy,” I said, balling my hands into fist so tight my fingernails dug into my palms. “A plaything for his amusement, and theirs.” I flicked my eyes up at the scaffolding above, where the stadium seats full of excited spectators were stacked above. “Remember your high fan-rating? How many of them are really going to be chanting for you when you walk into the arena? You’re just a shadow. You’re an imitation. They made you to glorify him. How does it feel, knowing everything you have is only because he had it first?”

Rugen’s face twisted into a heavier snarl. “I’m done with table scraps,” he hissed, “I want the real thing. All this time I’ve just had to wait, hoping he’d get knocked off his pedestal in order for me to become the Champion. But even then the victory wouldn’t have been mine, because even as an Elite I couldn’t touch him. But now I can take what I want right out of his hands and kick him down to the bowels of hell where he belongs.”

“So take my advice,” I said, “He’ll do anything to get those dragons on the Field. Forget the theatrics and cut him down while it’s easy. The last two couldn’t match him, and now look where they are.”

I didn’t know what I was doing. Providing Rugen with advice felt hollow; the odds were still so laughably towering against him that nothing I said was likely to make any difference. But if there was any way to extinguish Zarc’s spotlight so he couldn’t do any more damage like I’d seen last night, to himself or anyone else, then I had to take the opportunity. I didn’t…I _couldn’t_ afford to care what happened to Zarc. 

Rugen’s snarl faded again, and he narrowed his eyes, as though trying to discern whether I was goading him into a trap by offering him a suggestion. 

“Back at that party,” Rugen said, somewhat more gruffly than before, “Yagi said he recognized you from the old days of the League. You guys were on the same string?”

“Yeah,” I said, “But I didn’t know him very well.”

Rugen nodded, and broke off his eye contact with me. He took a moment to respond, and then asked again, “So what, you want Zarc to lose? You got stakes in it?”

“Sure,” I said dismissively, “I’ve got stakes in it.”

I still couldn’t be sure what Zarc might do, but I was certain that I did not want to see it. And, just as I’d thought before I’d even known him, I was certain that the end of Zarc would mean the end of the Real Fights. Neither Jericho nor Rugen, if they defeated him, could hold up Zarc’s reputation for majestic cruelty. If Zarc lost, all of this would be over.

“So what you’re saying is,” he shouldered his usual swagger again and sauntered toward me with his hand dragging along the scaffold railing, “Is that I _will_ see you in my hotel room after this?” He clamped the cigarette between his teeth and flashed another leering smile at me. I frowned.

“Just take him down,” I said, “Whatever you do, take Zarc down.”

He narrowed his eyes with a shrewdness that seemed uncharacteristic for his typical gasconade. “Funny,” he said quietly, “And we all thought you were his—”

From the stadium above I heard the commentator announce the five-minute call before the show would start again. Without saying anything more to Rugen, I turned on my heel and made my way back up the stairs, back into the foyer where the audience members were gathering up their final concessions, and rejoined my father, Kari, and Danny in the stands.

It was time for the show to begin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST AND CARD GAMES.
> 
> For the record, I won't blame you if you skimmed the duels. For the sake of pacing and appropriate drama I needed to write them out, but they were a bit of a pain. Anyone familiar with the TCG would probably agree that they are pretty noncomplex for a champion-level duel, but for the sake of brevity I kept things simple and fudged some of the effects.
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter 12: Encore


	12. Encore

> _Dreams fight with machines_
> 
> _Inside my head like adversaries_
> 
> _Come wrestle me free_
> 
> _Clean from the war_
> 
> _Your heart fits like a key_
> 
> _Into the lock on the wall_
> 
> _I turn it, I turn it_
> 
> _But I can't escape_
> 
> _I turn it over, I turn it over_

_—_ Fleurie, “Hurts Like Hell”

* * *

 

I returned to our department’s area in the stands before the warning lights flashed a second time. My father hadn’t left his seat, but he was looking exceptionally tense. He turned toward me as I sat down.

“It sounds like the machine is operating smoothly,” he said, tapping his earpiece to indicate that he had received reports from the control room. “Energy readings for all of the monsters are at the usual levels we determined in testing. The RSV reactor used slightly less energy for both of the duels in the first half than the average single duel from the old technology. Shino will be thrilled.”

“Great,” I replied, although it felt like my jaw was locking up.

“That reminds me, Ray,” chimed in Kari beside me, “Danny and I were wondering—how come Diesel’s heavy machine monster didn’t damage the floor when it dropped? The floor is fragile, right?”

“The RSV reactor is coded with a blueprint of the stadium,” I explained wearily, vaguely annoyed that such a big fan of the Real Fights didn’t know this already, “There’s a safety built in so that the monsters and effects can’t damage the stadium itself or go outside the bounds of the arena, so the audience can’t get hit by any monster debris or attack effects. The RSV particles dissolve at the surface of the floor, so anyone _on_ the floor can get…hurt, but the floor itself won’t be affected. The RSV projector is right under the floor, so it can’t risk getting damaged.”

The warning lights flashed again and the announcer issued his final call for the audience to return to their seats for the next part of the show.

“Who’s next, who’s next?” Kari rubbed her hands together.

“I just want this to be over with,” I said.

“I just—can’t believe it,” Kari went on, despite my obvious disinterest, “I know you technicians and researchers did all the real work and I’m just an admin, but I’m so happy to have been able to support you. I’m really proud to be a part of all this. Our team made this happen, you know?”

I turned to look at her squarely in the face, my temper shooting up intensely. “Two people just got killed, Kari. They’re dead because of this.”

Kari blinked behind her glasses, and then smiled a bit nervously. “W-well, you’re not supposed to think about that.”

I snapped. I didn’t mean to, but after all I’d seen today—last night—I couldn’t put up with it any longer.

“We’re _not supposed to think about it_?” I hissed, “We’re ‘not supposed to think about’ how this man just murdered two people? We’re just supposed to laugh and clap along with the crowd when Zarc tells his monsters to snap a guy’s spine or smash him to death and then they just turn the lights off and clean up the bodies so no one has to look at the mess?”

Danny leaned over to listen, frowning as Kari stared at me in shock, but I didn’t care. Every self-accusing thought I’d had since last night was pouring out of me like a hot, guilt-driven avalanche.

“We only care about what makes _us_ happy, don’t we? We want to stuff our faces and forget that it’ll make us sick to our stomachs, we don’t _think_ about what we’re doing, making _that man_ —” I jabbed my finger at the empty arena where Zarc would soon be standing, “—into some kind of idol and we demand more and more like stupid children, we’re just here for the thrill and we don’t care who he hurts.”

Kari sank back into her seat. “But he,” she said in an uncharacteristically small voice, “He wants to make us happy—”

“No he doesn’t!” I cried, “He doesn’t want to make us happy! He’s out for himself just like the rest of us. He gives us what we want so we give him what _he_ wants and he’ll do whatever it takes to get it, he’s just putting on a show and we don’t want to see what’s behind that curtain because we—because we—”

I stopped abruptly. I felt the lump rise in my throat and the tears burn in my eyes, but I knew I’d already gone too far. Kari looked like I had slapped her in the face. She adjusted her glasses and slid a finger under the knot of her white chiffon neckerchief, as though buying time to think of a fair response, but the lights dimmed and she turned away from me. I saw her hold onto Danny’s hand, as on my other side my father patted my wrist conspiratorially.

I clutched at the armrest, feeling a twinge of guilt in my stomach beside the hard knot of dread still cemented there. It wasn’t Kari’s fault, after all—if it were her, she would have done the same, gotten in just as deep as I had, possibly gotten even more hurt than I had. I shouldn’t have yelled at her. I’d apologize on Monday, when we were back in the office and everything was back to normal—even after whatever Zarc had planned to punish us during this Exhibition. Whatever it was, it might prove my point further anyway. 

The stadium dropped into full darkness, before the spotlight reappeared in the center of the arena to illuminate the newly-projected floating platform where Zarc now stood.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice echoed around the stadium, “Who shall be my opponent to open this second act? How shall we decide between the final two? How about we flip a coin?”

He held out his hand, face-up, and a glittering silver coin popped right into it, conjured out of midair. Despite my imminent dread I couldn’t help but appreciate how precise the RSV programming for that bit had to be, to project such a tiny object right into his hand.

With a deft little flick of his thumb he launched the coin spinning into the air, as the crowd collectively held its breath. “Let’s say, heads will be Rugen, and tails will be Jericho, shall we?” He caught the coin with his left hand and slapped it against his right wrist, taking a grinning moment to relish the crowd’s baited breath, and then held out his wrist to show the coin, projected around the stadium from the shining crystal above his head: tails.

Jericho. So that meant Rugen would be the final opponent, just like I suspected. There was no chance about it, there never had been.

Jericho appeared through the doors to the arena floor, stumbling at first as though he’d been roughly pushed into the ring, but he regained his composure quickly, and faced Zarc.

“So, Jericho,” Zarc said coolly, sitting on the edge of his floating platform with his legs crossed and his chin resting in his hand, “You think you can tear down the walls of my kingdom?”

“I’d love nothing better!” Jericho retorted. “My…my forces will bring down retribution upon you!”

“I don’t think that’s how the story goes,” Zarc replied, and he let himself drop, landing gracefully on a newly-projected platform hardly a split second after it materialized. Perfectly timed. Everything in place. He spread his arms again and addressed the audience, “Who will win this match?”

The audience replied in a thunderous chorus: “ _ZARC_!!”

“That sounds like a quaking shout to me, Jericho,” Zarc said with a grin.

The duel began. Zarc offered Jericho the first turn and Jericho obliged, but unlike his previous peers who worked their way into their higher-level ace monsters after a gradual, dramatic build, Jericho went immediately from his first summon into a second special summon, a level-up Spell card, and without hesitation—

“An Xyz Summon!” Kari exclaimed beside me, “The animation on this is so lovely, it’s my favorite!”

I couldn’t deny that the work the summoning animation programmers had done with Xyz Summoning was gorgeous. The star-flecked spiraling galaxy that overlayed the materials Jericho offered and flashed with glittering sparks all over the arena. Jericho’s monster rose out of the reaction with its materials spinning around it like orbiting stars, and as the crystal projected Zarc’s face to the arena. I had a feeling that I knew which dragon I’d see during this match.

“Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon!” Jericho cried. His monster was a tall, gaunt, dark-winged fiend with a hauntingly pale face. “He signifies the end of your world, Supreme King! The destruction of everything you hold dear!”

The smile faded from Zarc’s face. I felt my insides turn oddly cold, although I couldn’t quite understand why.

“The end of _my_ world?” Zarc repeated. He did not elaborate into a clever retort, but simply let the reply hang in the air with a strangely icy edge.

“I can’t attack on the first turn,” Jericho said ruefully, “So I’ll lay this card face-down, and end my turn.”

The Set card flashed, vanished, and everyone’s attention turned to Zarc. He drew his card, and made a silent show of examining it casually, glancing from his new card, to his hand, to Jericho’s Xyz monster.

“Bring out your monster!” Jericho called, unable to hide the hasty, nervous crack in his voice.

“I think,” Zarc replied, “I’ll lay five cards face-down, and end my turn.”

Five Set cards flashed out on the field, and then vanished. Jericho looked like Zarc had slapped him in the face, and the audience broke out into a bemused murmur.

“No monster?” Kari said in disappointment.

“No monster!?” Jericho cried to Zarc, “You’re just going to hide behind your defenses? Has the arrival of Armageddon already sent you running away? I thought you’d put up a real fight, Supreme King!”

Zarc did not answer. 

“Fine then! I’ll take my second turn!” Jericho drew his card and didn’t hesitate to make his move. “You can’t hide from your fate! Adreus, make your direct attack!”

“Idiot,” I whispered.

“I activate _Counter Gate_!” Zarc threw out a hand to reveal one of his face-down cards. “Ican negate your attack and summon a monster!”

Zarc’s lower-level monster appeared on the field in wait. Jericho didn’t seem surprised that Zarc had countered the direct attack, so he laid a card facedown and ended his turn.

“So he got a monster out on Jericho’s turn instead of his own?” Kari muttered to me, “Is that impressive?”

“Not really,” I replied a little more coldly than I intended, “If he just started with a bad hand at first he could just be scraping together a strategy out of nothing, but laying all his cards out leaves them more vulnerable than if he’d just held onto them. He could have taken the hit and used _Counter Gate_ at a more pivotal moment, so now it feels like a waste. Besides, good duelists don’t really have such a thing as a bad starting hand; basic deck-building instructs that any hand in a strong deck would allow you to get what you need no matter what combination you draw. It’s more likely he’s just playing to make Jericho angry. Baiting him, maybe, because those other four cards could be traps, and Jericho should know better than to keep attacking.”

I’d rambled longer than I had expected to. There was something familiar about talking through the play. It had been like what my father and I used to do, back when I was still in the league, when he and I would sit together and watch the other strings’ duels, discussing each play and speculating on the outcome. Kari nodded as I spoke, and I wondered if she was trying to test if I was still angry at her by inquiring into my knowledge about the game, even though she’d never shown interest before.

Zarc took his turn; he drew his card and glanced at it. From what little I’d seen of his theatrical dueling style before, this would be the moment when he might smile, make some sort of goading remark at his opponent for the benefit of the audience, and stretch out his play for dramatic effect. But he did none of those things in this moment; he simply looked down at the card, calculating his move with a slight frown as Jericho watched him breathlessly. From the closeup provided by the crystal projecting his face above I thought I saw his lips move slightly, murmuring something to himself that his microphone didn’t pick up. He looked oddly apprehensive, and despite my revulsion of him I found myself staring, trying to make sense of that expression, until the projection cut back to Jericho’s sneering face as he waited.

“So!?” Jericho shrieked, and the slight waver in his voice seemed to betray that Jericho had also noticed that Zarc was not acting with his usual bravado. It was making him nervous, as I well understood.

Zarc looked up, glancing at Jericho with that strange expression that I’d seen on him before, as though he had momentarily forgotten that Jericho was even there. Because his attention could hardly be spared for an opponent, not when…

“Fine,” Zarc replied, in an unnervingly candid tone. He might as well have been speaking to me in his isolated tower home. He summoned the monster he had drawn; another low-level monster, and for a moment I was puzzled over why he had suddenly dropped his pretense over such an innocuous creature, until I quickly put the figures together. Two monsters, equal in level, waiting on his side of the Field for their commands.

“It’s a—”

“Xyz Summon!” Zarc cried, and the swirling Overlay Network reappeared, throwing everything into darkness but for its glittering, vortex-like depths. The two monsters on his field dematerialized and plunged into the center of the galaxy-like projection as he continued, “O treacherous fangs of darkness…”

Just as I thought.

“This one is my _favorite_!” Kari squeaked beside me, and continued to recite the rest of the rest of the summon chant under her breath: “ _Rise up against our foolish oppressors…_ ”

Something lurched in the depths of my stomach, another echo from last night, his acrid words. _All anyone in this cruel, selfish world wants to do is consume me, slake their desires on me…_

I balled my fists around the hem of my dress. It was absurd, the way he had talked about his admirers, as though they clung to him with their demands like nettle. And perhaps they did, the way all throughout this Exhibition so far the audience had hung on his every move.

“DARK REBELLION XYZ DRAGON!”

The dragon emerged out of the Overlay Network, spinning and dipping high above the spectators’ heads before slamming down to its feet in front of Zarc and shrieking its high-pitched roar at Jericho’s Adreus. The audience cheered its excitement, but there was something anxious about the dragon, the way it twitched its wings and tossed its head and moved its clawed feet in an unstable, nervous shuffle. The last two dragons had played their roles well, reflecting the facade of charisma that Zarc had taught them, but this time there was an unease to it that didn’t suit the stage.

“Is something wrong with the projection?” Kari whispered over to me.

I looked to my other side, to see my father’s half-illuminated face frowning slightly at the dragon. He placed his two fingers to the receiver in his ear and murmured, “Read me the energy output on the most recent Xyz monster.”

He waited a moment, and then said, “That’s fine. Normal readings.”

I leaned back over to Kari. “The projection is still stable,” I told her, “Nothing unusual.”

“Then why’s it acting all twitchy?”

I couldn’t answer. To explain why Zarc’s monsters behaved unpredictably to our machines would be to explain how I knew that they were alive beyond the system in a way that consumed him and terrified me, and it was impossible. I wanted to distance myself from what I knew, pretend I’d never stepped unwittingly into his home, into his world, and that I could just go on believing that he was just a soulless reprobate who ruined my favorite game.

The dragon was visibly enraged, tossing its head with its tusked jowls and scratching the claws of its feet along the arena floor.

“My monster wants to attack,” Zarc said, with an almost lazy air to his voice if I hadn’t known better, “Go on then.”

The dragon lunged forward with streaks of lightning cracking in the folds of its wings, but Jericho flung up his hand to reveal his face-down card—

“ _Battle Break_!” he called, and the projection of Zarc’s face above showed his complete lack of surprise. “The battle phase ends and your monster is destr—”

“ _Magic Jammer_!” Zarc flung up his own hand and revealed another of his own face-down cards. “I’ll discard one card from my hand to negate your Trap. My monster remains!”

The audience cheered, although perhaps not as enthusiastically as the times before.

“The card I will discard is _Reaction Draw,_ ” Zarc continued, “Which allows me to draw another card. I’ll then lay one card facedown, and end my turn.”

I glanced up at the scoreboard, untouched as it was. Someone down the row from my father audibly sighed in exasperation.

Nothing was happening. In four whole turns both opponents were untouched, and despite both having summoned their Xyz charges they had made no progress against one another. It was straightforward. I frowned, trying to read the stony expression on Zarc’s face, but he was as unreadable to me as he was to the rest of his audience. The bravado and theatricality had faded and he seemed oddly reserved, as though reluctant to make this duel the show that everyone wanted to see.

Jericho was grinding his teeth, clearly incensed that Zarc was not treating his duel like the spectacle it ought to be. “Your audience is getting bored, ‘Supreme King’!” He spat, and a few audience members in his own fan section clapped in appreciation. “They won’t want you like this! Don’t worry, I’ll be glad to take your place. It will be a new beginning for us all! A rebirth!”

I leaned in to watch Jericho’s turn, as he summoned, followed with a second Special Summon by its effect, and opened the Overlay Network once again.

“Let’s now herald the advent of a new king!” He cried to his audience, whose cheers echoed around the stadium as the new monster rose out of the glowing pool of stars, “Tiras, Keeper of Genesis!”

As the complete opposite to Jericho’s hellish fiend Adreus, Tiras glowed in a bright white light, wrapped in a heavenly robe and golden wings. It stood next to Adreus, an angel beside a demon.

“Genesis and Armageddon, the beginning and the end,” Jericho said complacently, “The birth of a new world at the end of the last. It will be beautiful, I assure you. When I am the king I will bring order to your—” he nodded smugly at Zarc’s aggressively twitching dragon, “—chaos.”

I put my hand in my chin as I stared down at the field. Jericho’s monsters hung in the air like dolls, symbolic but lifeless and empty.

“Your monsters are puppets,” Zarc said, echoing my own thoughts, “As meaningless as the sentimental airs you put on.”

“Oh really, King?” Jericho sneered in return, “Then let’s test that dragon’s power, shall we? It’s weaker than my monsters, so we’ll see which one is truly meaningless. First the end, then the beginning!”

Jericho thrust forward with his hand and shouted for Adreus to attack. The fiend darted forward with a wicked grin projected on its gaunt, pale face, raising its hand holding a flaming dagger to strike the Dark Rebellion Dragon. The dragon bowed its head, ready to accept the attack and disappear from the field, but—

“I activate _Chaos Barrier Field_!” Zarc shouted above Jericho’s cheering fans, who fell silent to listen to his trap. “The attack against my monster is negated—” Adreus’s hand fell limply to its side like a marionette as it was forced to stop its attack, “—and the two monsters on my opponent’s Field will battle each other!”

Adreus turned to face Tiras, the wicked grin plastered again over its doll-like face, as Tiras in turn raised its holy sword and shield to engage the battle.

“He’s pitting them against each other?” Kari hissed in my ear. “What will happen then?” 

“They’re powerless against one another! There is no end and no beginning!” Zarc cried above the tumult of the audience, wild as they were with Zarc’s unexpected control over Jericho’s own turn, “There is only chaos now!”

Adreus and Tiras clashed against one another, the dark fiend versus the angel of light. “They’re equally matched,” I mumbled back to Kari, “They’ll both be destroyed.”

“I—I activate _Fighting Fund_!” Jericho cried, flicking the card from his hand onto the field, “My monsters are not destroyed by battle!”

Tiras and Adreus were spared. They both dropped their arms to their sides, ceasing their pointless battle, and returned to their hanging, puppetlike state in the air before Jericho. He himself was staring at his own empty hand, loathe to have given up the last card at his disposal.

“You still can’t let go of your meaningless sentiment?” Zarc said icily with narrowed eyes, “Due to _Chaos Barrier Field_ ’s effect, your battle phase is over. You wasted your attack.”

I took a moment, against my own reluctance, to marvel again at how effortlessly Zarc grabbed control of the duel, even on Jericho’s own turn. Even without the theatrical flair the strategy was meant to humiliate his opponent and make his monsters look feeble and exploitable. Jericho still had one card face-down on the field, but with his turn almost over and no cards in his hand, there was little more he could do now. I started to feel a growing tightness in my stomach, as though my viscera knew what was coming before my brain fully acknowledged it.

“I have one last gift for you, on your turn,” Zarc went on, flicking his hand to activate the fourth of the cards he had Set in his very first hand. “ _Xyz Stun_.”

Adreus froze, as though chained on the spot by Zarc’s trap, unable to activate its effect.

Jericho had only one option left. Zarc had seen to it that he would dangle survival in front of Jericho like a tease, a cruel play. The Dark Rebellion Dragon turned its head to look at Zarc, almost appealing, and Zarc glanced back at it with another unreadable gaze.

“Then I’ll activate Tiras’s effect!” Jericho said, “Since Tiras has battled during this turn, I can remove an Xyz material to destroy your monster!”

Tiras spread its heavenly wings and raised its sword to the sky as the lights in the arena dimmed, and a shaft of light appeared at the tip of the blade. The Dark Rebellion Dragon roared in response, unfurling its wings and moving in front of Zarc to protect him from the blast. Tiras slashed the sword downward as a shining, bladelike arc of light flew from the tip of the blade right toward the dragon, ready to slice it into glittering vanishment.

“No!” Zarc cried out suddenly, dodging in front of his own dragon’s outstretched wings to dart right in front of it and yell, “I activate _My Body as a Shield_!”

The final card that Zarc had lain in his first turn flipped up to reveal its face in the same instant that Tiras’s slice of effect energy hit Zarc squarely in the chest. The audience gasped and screamed as he careened backward and slammed like a ragdoll against the arena wall several yards away and the Dark Rebellion Dragon’s shriek of panic and terror rose chillingly above the tumult. I somehow found my hands clapped over my mouth, watching in horror as the dust settled.

The scoreboard ticked down to reflect Zarc’s new score as the audience shrieked in shock, _Zarc takes the first damage of the duel! Zarc sacrifices his own lifepoints to protect his monster!_

Indeed, it had cost him fifteen-hundred points to activate that card, if only to keep his dragon on the field.

“Why’d he do that!?” Kari squeaked indignantly, “Fifteen hundred points down? He could’ve gotten another monster if he let that one go, right?”

Again I felt that pang of guilt, the knowledge I had of Zarc’s real intentions. What did Zarc care for his own life, his own safety, if it meant he got to spend even a moment with his monsters? That he would not suffer them to leave the Field until the duel was over, even at the risk of his own life?

The dust and sparks cleared, to reveal Zarc slumped against the arena wall. The Dark Rebellion Dragon lumbered frantically toward him, allowing him to raise his arms and grasp the creature’s neck so it could lift him to his feet. The projection crystal focused on his face. His eyes were closed as he lay his cheek against the dragon’s head, but he was smiling, and his lips moved as though again speaking soft words that the lapel microphone could not pick up. The audience clapped in relief that their hero was alive, even Jericho’s fans in tune. Jericho balled up his fists in rage that his turn had still ended without himself in the spotlight. The Dragon settled Zarc back onto his feet.

“One more turn,” I said to myself.

“You’ve got nothing else, Jericho,” Zarc called out, though his voice was breathy from the damage he had taken, “Are you finished?”

Jericho conceded through gritted teeth, “I end my turn.”

Zarc walked slowly back to his position on the arena floor to face Jericho, the Dark Rebellion Dragon turning its face once again to Adreus and Tiras as they hung in wait.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Zarc said with open arms, stepping easily into the old magnanimous deference that he had forsaken throughout most of this duel, “My opponent and I each have one card on the field and no cards in our hands. When I draw, it will end the duel. He will crumble when you give a quaking shout. Who will win this match!?”

“ _ZARC!!”_ The audience screamed back.

“Who will rise up as your unmatched king!?”

“ _ZARC!!_ ” The crowd were stamping their feet so violently against the stands that it truly felt like an earthquake, and I convulsively gripped the arms of my seat.

“THEN HERE IT COMES!” Zarc cried, and drew his card with his old signature flair. He glanced at it, and allowed himself an indulgent moment as the audience hung breathlessly upon his next move, and Jericho stepped back to stand behind Tiras, as though hoping his monster might shield him.

“I am going to perform a magic trick,” Zarc said, “I activate _Negative Energy_!” He slapped his newly-drawn card onto his disk. “The attack of all dark-attribute monsters is doubled!”

The Dark Rebellion Dragon stretched its wings and shrieked its echoing cry to the stadium ceiling, as Adreus, the dark-attribute monster on Jericho’s side of the field, did the same.

“Five thousand!” Kari said, clapping as the Dark Rebellion Dragon’s stats were doubled on the scoreboard.

“Adreus has fifty-two hundred,” I said, “But that won’t matter.”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with my monster’s effect, Jericho?” Zarc said, more to the audience than to his opponent, “When I detach its Xy material, your monster’s attack is halved and added to my own monster.”

A wicked grin flashed across Jericho’s face. “If you think a simple enough effect will bring me down!” he called back, “Bring on your worst, Supreme King!”

“My worst?” Zarc replied. He stepped forward to stand beside his dragon, raising his arm to run the back of his hand along the creature’s neck. “This match has been far too easy for my worst. What a waste, really.” He narrowed his eyes, flicking his gaze between Tiras and Adreus, Genesis and Armageddon. “Your monsters are so meaningless that it hardly matters which one I attack. I’ll let my dragon decide.”

The Dark Rebellion Dragon turned to look at Zarc, who nodded, and then whipped its sleek, tusked head around to growl menacingly at Tiras, Keeper of Genesis. Of course, it chose its revenge against the monster that had hurt its beloved master.

“The Keeper of Genesis shall taste my monster’s fury, then,” Zarc said, and then shouted to the full stadium, “ _GO!!”_

The audience cheered and stamped, Tiras’s attack ticked down to half its original amount and the dragon’s rose conversely, and the dragon launched itself at Jericho’s gilded archangel in a burst of crackling violet lightning, who feebly raised its shield to fend off the attack, and yet Jericho stood his ground behind his monster to cry—

“ _Return Damage_!” Jericho cried, “I will not take this attack, Supreme King Zarc—you will!”

“He’ll lose!” Kari shrieked, joined by several other spectators in our section, shrieking and crying as Tiras raised its sword to pierce through the dragon’s attack and blow it careening back at its master—

“ _Dragon Gust_!”

It was over. It was so fast that I only barely registered the card activation, Zarc’s final command amid the uproar, that flipped Jericho’s would-be victory back down on its face and the Dark Rebellion Dragon launched at Tiras again, too quickly for Jericho to react, too ferociously for the speed of its own body and the surge of its rage to stop itself after the shining blade pierced through the Keeper of Genesis and the angelic warrior exploded into a shower of golden sparks, obscuring the dragon momentarily in the glow—

Until the sparks vanished, and the crowd fell silent as the Dark Rebellion Dragon raised its head into the spotlight, with Jericho’s body skewered limply upon its bladelike tusk.

“Not every end is a beginning, Jericho.”

The third victory. The third death. The stadium exploded again into a tumult of cheers and applause. The dragon swung its head around to fling Jericho’s body back toward Zarc, leaving a shining arc of blood along the floor as the body flew and then smacked against the ground and rolled to Zarc’s feet. Zarc made no acknowledgement of the body; he was already raising his hand again to greet his dragon, and I saw again that rapturous expression projected above us—loathe as I was to look at the body on the floor—just like the adoring face he would make every time I projected one of his beloved dragons for him in the lab.

The lights went out again; this time obscuring Zarc himself as the cleanup team removed the body from sight as the applause continued. I could hear Kari conferring excitedly with Danny about how close Zarc had come to losing everything. I supposed my angry outburst at her earlier had done nothing to change her mind.

But the lights were off for too long. Gradually the applause faded and gave way to confused murmuring, and then cries of shock and confusion starting from the seats nearest the arena floor. 

Emergency lights flashed on along the bounds of the arena; shinbusters that threw all of the figures on the arena floor into gigantic, looming shadows; a few disoriented members of the cleanup crew dragging Jericho’s half-open bodybag, a figure frantically struggling against a security officer; and Zarc, a few paces back from the corpse, holding his monster’s card.

I leaned forward to stare down at the scene, squinting to discern the action from between the towering shadows. The audience was hushing each other to listen to the cries of the man struggling against the security officer grappling to hold him back. The projection crystal above flickered through several angle screens, as though the technicians in the control room were frantically trying to catch up with the action on the floor, until the screaming man’s face was projected above the arena, and I recognized him as Jericho’s manager.

“HOW—HOW COULD YOU! HOW COULD YOU!?” the man was bellowing in an unhinged, grief-stricken frenzy, “I’LL KILL YOU MYSELF! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL—” and in a violent swing he slammed his elbow into the security officer’s face, sending him reeling backward with his hands over his nose, and the manager charged forward with his raging eyes fixed on Zarc, reaching a hand under his jacket to pull out—

Kari screamed openly, along with plenty of other audience members shrieking _A gun! He has a gun_!!

But the moment moved so fast I could hardly keep track of it. Zarc slapped the one card still in his hand down on the light plane of his disk practically milliseconds before the _BANG_ —and the dragon reappeared, huge and dark and twitching with fury with the lightning still crackling in its wings, its shadow from the shinbusters towering over the heads of the transfixed spectators. The bullet glanced off of the dragon’s knee, and the monster swung its sleek head in a quick, devastating slash that sent Jericho’s manager flying sideways as the crowd screamed in either terror or delight—I couldn’t tell—

The man hit the wall of the arena and slumped against the floor with blood oozing freely from his neck and chest. One of the members of the cleanup team still holding Jericho’s body hesitantly let go of the charge to approach the new body, but the dragon snorted and lurched at him and he fell back in terror with his hands over his head. The dragon was still twitching and shrieking, backing up against Zarc with its wings outstretched lest another villainous opponent try to hurt its precious master. 

I felt my father lean forward in his seat, and turned to see him press his finger against his earpiece. “Give me an energy reading on that monster again.”

The projection above the stadium trained onto Zarc’s face, and for a split second he seemed to glance around as though just now realizing that everyone was expecting him to react to this bizarre turn of events with more than just the vague disdain he was showing. His eyes flicked up to his own face on the projection screen, and then he smiled.

He raised his arms as his disk disengaged and the dragon faded away again, and the rest of the arena was thrown into darkness again and left Zarc alone in the spotlight. A few members of the audience started clapping, then more, and then whoops and cheers and whistles erupted around the stadium with as much wild enthusiasm as ever.

“A surprise encore!” Zarc said with his old magnanimous charm, “In the case that my opponent ceased to delight you, I will always serve your desires!”

“You’ll kill a civilian,” I said through gritted teeth. It was clear even from the most naive perspective that the manager’s manic outburst and subsequent death was not scripted or planned but a genuine act of grief and rage, but they didn’t care. Perhaps the newspapers tomorrow will cover the story, penning out with gusto that Zarc had acted in self-defense against the manager’s manic episode. Vaguely I remembered that the magazines a few weeks ago had run an exposé about the secret affair between Jericho and his manager. I hadn’t read the articles, but the headlines were enough to suggest what had happened here.

“What do you mean, there’s no energy reading?” My father hissed into his earpiece.

I leaned in to listen. Over the tumult of the crowd I couldn’t hear what the speaker in his ear was saying, but his responses were enough.

“The monster that was just here…No, not during the duel. Twenty seconds ago. No Overlay summon, it just appeared. The energy reading?…Yes, I know the reactor is in standby mode. I’m asking about the monster. The Xyz dragon. You did _see_ it just now, didn’t you? Then just tell me the…What do you mean there’s _no energy reading_?”

As the applause went on, Zarc swept into another gracious bow, doubling over to obscure his face from the projection above. I watched him closely, and before he rose back up, I saw him swiftly pass his hand across his lips to wipe away the stream of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must apologize for my long silence and thank everyone for returning. Between a couple bouts of the cold and added holiday responsibilities at work in the past couple of months I haven't had much creative energy to spare, but I'm hoping to return to my usual routine after the holiday season is over.
> 
> Card games are awful to write and I won't blame anyone for skimming this chapter. Originally this sequence and the following would have been one chapter, but to include the next set of events on top of this was already getting to be too long, and I wanted to ensure I would have something to post on Zarcmas <3 For now, have some ~SYMBOLISM~
> 
> This will be my only blow-by-blow duel, as the next chapter will feature more than just trading card games.
> 
> We wish you a Merry Zarcmas and a happy Ray year!
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter 13: Inferno


	13. Inferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so for my own convenience and to build on the drama, I invented some trading cards that aren't real. I recognize that they would probably not function correctly in the real OCG/TCG, but let's just roll with it.

 

> _ I tried to warn you when you were a child, _
> 
> _ I told you not to get lost in the wild. _
> 
> _ I sent you omens and all kinds of signs, _
> 
> _ I taught you melodies, poems, and rhymes. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Oh, you fool, there are rules, I am coming for you. _
> 
> _ Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins. _
> 
> \- Lord Huron, “The Yawning Grave”
> 
>  

* * *

 

It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be doing this. Not now, when there was so much at stake—not after he had failed and he knew it was impossible.

_I can be stronger. I’m different from everyone else. The monsters chose me. I’ll make them live. I’ll show you—I’ll show everyone._

No. Calm down. Calm down. It might have been a fluke—just an impulse in the moment to protect himself from that maniac just now. It didn’t mean this was his plan all along. It _couldn’t_ be his plan, after he knew the cost. He couldn’t do it.

“Gosh, that was so _dramatic_!” Kari was saying, “He really does know how to put on a show, you know? Always a surprise…”

“That wasn’t part of the show,” I said stiffly through my clenched teeth.

“Well, I know,” Kari conceded, “But it might as well have been.”

I was starting to feel nauseated, even moreso than I’d felt all evening. The bodies were cleaned up quickly and everything felt surreal, detached like it might just be a dream. Zarc’s dueling was impeccable, unmatched; the deference to his crowd even when he held them in so much contempt, the lights and the music. And four people were dead now.

One more to go. Then it would be over.

I knew Rugen wouldn’t stand a chance. His hubris and his flashy style were exactly the kind of things Zarc would exploit. It would be agony having to sit here and watch it, anotherpointless mockery of the game I used to love that ended with a perfunctory and forgettable death as the spotlight focused only on the winner. A victory to remember, but not a death to memorialize. I’d given Rugen the best advice I could think of, but truthfully it was nothing. He wouldn’t listen to me anyway, and soon they’d be cleaning him up in the dark, sweeping him out of memory just like the rest. I almost pitied him.

The music rose into a snare processional, rather like one heralding an execution, as Rugen stalked forward. I hadn’t gotten a chance to examine the style of his gear when I’d met him in the lower scaffolding at intermission, but here in the stage lights of the arena he made a striking impression. The protective leather that fit snugly around his chest and shoulders was moulded into draping folds, almost like cloth, all at once rugged and intimidating and yet poetic.As a matter of fact, this looked like a completely different set of gear than he’d worn when I’d talked to him during the intermission.

“Are you ready, Supreme King?”

If he was apprehensive at all, he hid it well; his face showed a sly smirk that was betrayed only a tiny bit by the shrewd, calculating crease between his eyebrows.

Zarc responded with a sardonic eyebrow. “ _Ready_? Ready for what?”

There was another swell of noise from the audience; some laughter, jeering, and a smattering of clapping at Rugen’s challenge. Rugen let the noise die down before he answered, but then said in a plain, clear voice, “Your final judgement.”

More uproar sounded from the crowd, some derisive hooting at Rugen’s challenge, but there was a surprising amount of applause. Apparently Rugen did have a sizable number of supporters in the crowd; maybe some of those whose favorite Elite had already lost had joined in. It hardly mattered; in the end they’d all be cheering for Zarc again.

“My judgement?” Zarc repeated with relished amusement.

Rugen’s smile widened. “I am going to take you on a journey, Supreme King, where you will finally feel the sting of your sins, where the maggots will drink your tears, where your blood will run out like a boiling river as until you are frozen and forgotten in the deepest chasm of the abyss.”

His voice echoed around the stadium, firm and powerful, and I couldn’t help but wonder at the unprecedented change in his manner. All of that lazy swagger was gone, his regular bravado set aside for an eloquent, practiced showmanship that demanded the crowd’s attention. The past three duelists had been too eager in their challenges to bask in the limelight, but suddenly I found that Rugen commanded the stage almost as naturally as Zarc himself.

Despite my determination to distance myself from the outcome of this match, I leaned over and asked Kari, “What kind of deck does Rugen use?”

“Well that’s the thing,” she replied promptly, “He changes it a lot. He has a few that he switches between just to keep things unpredictable, keep opponents from strategizing too much ahead of time. He changes his clothes to suit the different decks, keep the theme and all, but I don’t remember seeing this one before.” She turned to Danny to ask him, “Is this the _Dracoslayers_ one? That would fit. No? Maybe this is a brand new deck, then…”

I pondered this statement. If Rugen had really chosen a new deck for this match, it was a risky decision. Playing a brand new, unfamiliar set of cards was bound to be a handicap—but it set him outside of the trap that Flintlock, Diesel, and Jericho had all fallen into by leaning on their signature styles for fear of taking too tough a risk. But a new set of cards was impossible to strategize against. Zarc wouldn’t be prepared for what was to come. 

Maybe Rugen had a chance. 

I couldn’t say I was hopeful. It was impossible to be truly hopeful after the shocking ease with which Zarc had dominated the last three Elites, and not for the idea of Rugen or any other horrible man winning Zarc’s seat as Champion. But the sooner the lights went out on Zarc, the sooner I could move on from him. I could forget him like everyone else would. I wouldn’t have to see his face everywhere I turned; he’d be simply erased like all the Elites of the past as the world turned their gaze to their new hero. No more additions to the short string of messages on my DDC. His warm eyes, his arms, his breath—I could convince myself it was all just a foolish daydream. I could forget. I wanted to forget.

“Since he seems so very _confident_ ,” Zarc was saying to the crowd, a wicked grin playing across his face, “I’ll let my opponent take the first turn.”

“Oh, don’t think of me as your opponent, Supreme King,” Rugen retorted promptly, with an oily, ingratiating tone. “Today I’ll be your guide. We’re going on a journey, after all.”

Zarc watched Rugen closely as they both drew their cards. The music swelled into a dramatic build that opened the final match of the evening, a heart-pounding snare march that Rugen relished as he examined his hand with theatrical contemplation, waiting for the climactic silence that would herald his first move.

“Pass.”

The audience sighed as the intense moment fell ironically flat. Zarc blinked in surprise, and glanced up at the scoreboard to watch the turn indicator flip to him, as though he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d heard correctly.

“He gave up his advantage?” I mumbled, not really directing the thought to anyone, “Was his draw really that bad?”

I half expected Zarc to make a taunt at Rugen, some crowd-indulging cheap shot that made Rugen look shameful and would goad him into making some impulsive, foolish aggression on the next round. If Zarc summoned a monster, he could attack Rugen directly and knock out a hearty chunk of his lifepoints with nothing to block his onslaught. If he had the right combo, he could take Rugen out all at once in one turn. The crystal projector above the stadium was focused on Zarc’s face, but I squinted to try to discern Rugen’s expression, to see if any apprehension lingered there over the massive risk he’d taken. 

Zarc drew a card, and summoned a monster. I watched Rugen closely, to see if he might have planned a way to defend himself against the direct attack. But Zarc played one more card.

“We both discard our hands, and draw new cards.”

The audience groaned, clapped a little bit, or laughed as though the irony of Zarc making such a bland move to begin the final match of the evening settled in. Rugen complied, his lips tightening somewhat as he dropped his five cards into the Graveyard, and Zarc did the same. 

The turn counter flipped back to Rugen, who made some display of stroking his chin as he flicked his gaze from Zarc’s single monster to the cards in his own hand. 

“Tsk tsk, Supreme King, you should have known better,” he crowed, “I suppose I should thank you for making the first stage of our journey so simple. Perhaps you truly are ready to face your transgressions? When my Field Spell card _Circles of Torment_ is in my Graveyard, I can Set it out on the Field!”

With a deafening rumbling sound, the floor of the arena appeared to crack open—I knew it was all a projected image, and yet it was impressively realistic—steaming out from under the surface as a red light bled through the fissure. The floor opened; both Zarc and Rugen backed up as the floor they were standing on rose up into platform to let the mouth of the fissure open wider and wider, plunging down below them, even appearing far deeper than the floor itself. Beneath their feet, level with the lower seating right near the arena floor, the fissure unfolded to reveal layer upon layer of spirits and twisted bodies writhing and howling in agony. The applause for the impressive display was punctuated by a groan of disgust; the putrid smell of sulfur and rust reached even the higher levels of the audience seating. I pulled my wrist over my nose and mouth as my eyes watered at the smell.

“You know the inscription here, don’t you?” Rugen said, more to the audience than to Zarc, “‘Abandon all hope, those who enter.’”

The one monster that Zarc had summoned slowly bowed its head to look into the swirling depths. 

“Explain yourself, Rugen,” Zarc called from across the fissure.

“All in good time. I told you I would be your guide, didn’t I? This is the place where you will be faced with your sins, and be judged.”

The crowd jeered and hissed at Rugen’s statement, but Zarc’s expression remained stony.

“The effect of _Circles of Torment_ declares that no monsters may be summoned from the hand.”

Zarc’s eyes widened. I straightened up in my seat. Rugen’s Field Spell forbade Summons from the hand. He really had changed his outfit from when I had talked to him earlier—and if what Kari said was true, and Rugen had a different set of gear that corresponded with each of his decks and strategies…

“I’ve never _seen_ this before!” Kari whispered right on cue, “I mean, _wow_! To think he’d never played this deck before. This really will be an amazing climax!”

Rugen had changed his whole deck after talking to me. He had taken my advice after all, and sealed off Zarc’s summoning. At least, the easy way for Zarc to summon.

“But luckily, Supreme King,” Rugen went on smoothly, “I’ll offer you some help in these trying times.” He raised his hand out again, extending a Spell card to activate on the Field. “ _The Trumpet Sounds in the Abyss._ Once per turn we may summon one level four or lower monster from our own Graveyard, and it will be treated as a Normal Summon.”

Of course, Rugen had to have a strategy set up so he himself would have a way to summon monsters to the field, but the conditions of the process made it considerably more complicated. First to the Graveyard by effect, then to the Field. 

“So now comes our next player in this comedy,” he said, “Which you also so cunningly sent down to my graveyard earlier. Come, Graff!”

The monster came from the depths of the fissure, scratching its way to the surface with huge, black paws; a great, demonic dog that foamed at the mouth and dragged broken chains from the shackles around its legs. A pair of batlike clawed wings sprouted from its back and its eyes glowed a furious, bloody red. The screens above flashed the name of the card, _Graff, Malebranche of the Burning Abyss._

“Our monsters are evenly matched,” Rugen cried over the renewed roar of the crowd, “But before we begin our journey, I have one more gift to impart to you. When _Circles of Torment_ is in play—”

Another card flashed out onto the field: _The Pilgrim Walks Alone._

“Any monster not under the name of ‘Burning Abyss’ that is sent to the Graveyard is banished instead. You can’t take it with you, Supreme King.”

Zarc’s lips tightened. Rugen’s cards could be summoned again and again if Zarc’s monsters destroyed them, but if Zarc’s monsters were destroyed, they would never come back.

He laid one more card down, and ended his turn with that. I was stunned.

Zarc already had one monster on the field, so he had at least some defense for now, but it was clear from the look on his face that he was absolutely livid. I knew the idea of throwing his beloved monsters into the Graveyard in order to summon them was already infuriating to him, but the idea of losing them to banishment if they left the Field was arguably worse.

“Do you understand where we are now?” Rugen said quietly. The crystal projected a close-up of his face, lit from beneath by the ominous red glow of the chasm that plunged at his feet. “The place where only death is eternal, where everything you once loved is stripped from you?” 

The arena fell to a hush, but Zarc said nothing in response.

The scoreboard flipped to indicate that it was now Zarc’s turn again. I watched him closely; his jaw was twitching as though his teeth were gritted so firmly that he could hardly call out his plays, much less to find some cavalier response to Rugen’s many conditions.

“ _Soul Taker_ ,” he said, flicking his hand to activate the Spell, “My opponent gains one thousand lifepoints—” the scoreboard ticked up to raise Rugen’s score, “—and I tribute the opponent’s monster, and one of my own!”

Both Graff and Zarc’s monster exploded into sparks and began to reform into a new shape. Rugen narrowed his eyes, as Zarc called forth his monster. “— _the rare dragon with the differently-colored eyes…!_ ”

The Odd-Eyes Dragon bounded out into the arena, leaping from platform to platform as the crowd cheered, and despite myself I almost smiled to see it joyously shuffle its feet when it laid eyes on its master. It leapt over to where Zarc waited, and with hardly a moment of hesitation Zarc stepped right off of the platform where he stood and dropped, in perfect timing, to land on the dragon’s back.

His face changed instantly. If he had looked angry before, if he had been bothered or shaken by the dire straits of Rugen’s traps, in that moment it was gone. He might have still been looking up at me from below as his dragon flew around with me last night in the huge room he had built for them, his face glowing with joy to be with his monsters. The memory tugged at me. It had been that way all along, hadn’t it, my sense that there was this joyful, disingenuous boy beneath that intimidating facade; but I knew all too well the consequences of thinking too much of that boy.

Zarc indulged himself in a lap around the arena, raising a hand to wave at the audience as he grinned and his monster bounded gleefully from platform to platform.

“What a grim set of circumstances my opponent has constructed!” He called out to his fans, “But a real entertainer will overcome these obstacles easily!”

“Liar,” I muttered. He had managed to get one of his dragons out onto the Field, but dealing heavy damage under Rugen’s strict conditions would be far from easy.

“And another!” Zarc cried, revealing another Spell card: “ _Fusion Gate_! I can banish the Fusion materials in my hand to call forth another monster! Back for the finale—!”

The lighting changed again as the Starving Venom Fusion Dragon formed once more onto the Field, its hooked tail slashing as it writhed its serpentine body over the chasm of Rugen’s _Circles of Torment_. It hovered close to Zarc, roaring and hissing, wrapping its coils around him again as he stood on the back of his scarlet beast. Zarc raised his face to look up at it, and closed his eyes as though letting the monster’s voice wash over him.

So now Zarc had two of his dragons out at once. I took a moment to tally the field, like I used to do when I had been the one on the stage facing the opponent: Rugen had his Field Spell, and his three Spell cards in play, no monsters. One face-down card. If Zarc attacked with both of his monsters maybe Rugen would stop one of them with a trap, but he’d still have to take the other direct attack, and even the bonus Zarc had given him in exchange for tributing Rugen’s monster wouldn’t help him much then.

“Now that I’ve stripped my opponent of his monster, we’ll see if the secrets in his fiery depths will protect him from my attack!”

The Odd-Eyes Dragon lunged forward without a moment’s hesitation, barreling toward Rugen with Zarc astride its back to make it’s direct attack. I put my chin in my hands, waiting for the attack to strike, but—

“Allow me to activate my trap!” Rugen yelled, “ _Fake Life_!”

The Trap card manifested like a spiraling gust of smoke that blew the Odd-Eyes Dragon off its attack course and sent the scarlet beast careening sideways, spinning out of control, until it smashed right into the plexiglass barrier that protected the lower-level spectators, showering the floor with sparks. 

There was another outbreak of applause and gasps as the smoke cleared; Zarc had managed to avoid being smashed between the wall and his own dragon, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His dragon lumbered to its feet and shook itself, nudging its head to Zarc’s shoulder as though to assure him it was alright.

“Hasty, hasty,” Rugen chided, shaking his head as though he was disappointed. “Trying to finish this match quickly, are you, Supreme King? We’ve only just begun our journey. But I should thank you, since the effect of _Fake Life_ negates your attack and adds your monster’s attack value to my lifepoints.”

Sure enough, Rugen’s score ticked up another twenty-five hundred points, putting him at almost double the value of Zarc’s score.

“Look!” I hissed to my father, openly pointing at the plexiglass. The pane that the dragon had struck was visibly punctured, with a few chunks of glass falling from the hole it had left.

“The monsters shouldn’t be able to cause damage to the arena!” My father said immediately, “I didn’t think Zarc himself had hit the glass—”

“He didn’t!” I whispered, “The dragon’s spike must have gone through it!”

In the light from the arena floor I saw my father’s brow furrow. “It should be impossible. But then again, he should not have been able to summon that Xyz monster after that last duel was over. Something’s gone wrong with the RSV parameters, perhaps with the implementation of the auxiliary reactor-conversion module…but we tested it at length all this week, how could…”

“I’ll go down and check,” I said quickly.

“Shouldn’t I—?” he said, making to get out of his seat.

“No, no,” I stood up before he could, and gently held his arm down so he would stay seated, “You’ve got the headset, remember? I’ll let you know what’s going on once I get down there, just keep track of anything unusual that you see, okay?”

Reluctantly, he nodded, and turned back to the duel.

“Excuse me! Sit back down!” The spectators from the row behind me were hissing in irritation, so I scooted sideways and almost fell into Kari’s lap.

“Ray? Where are you going?”

“I just have to use the restroom,” I said, trailing off over some excuse about the long line during intermission.

“But you’ll miss something big!”

“I don’t mind,” I said absently, and sidled awkwardly into the aisle to the protests and grumbling of the other members of the row.

I hurried up the aisle as the duel went on, but I wasn’t paying attention to the plays. I pulled open the heavy door back into the foyer only to be met with another monitor screen just in time to watch the Starving Venom Dragon burst into a shower of sparks and vanish from the Field.

I spun around in shock to look back at the arena floor, trying to see what Rugen had done to destroy Zarc’s monster, but the door closed. There was too much noise from the audience for the monitor to pick up the commentary, but I stood there for a moment alone, hardly able to believe it.

One dragon was gone now. Banished, and even on the same turn it was summoned. For as protective as Zarc had been in the previous duel to keep his precious monster on the Field, it was so easy for Rugen to sweep it away? I kept my eyes averted from the monitor and tried not to imagine the look on Zarc’s face, wide-eyed and horrified as he watched his monster be taken away.

The audio from the duel was still projected around the empty foyer as I flashed my staff badge to the security guard again, even though his eyes were glued to another monitor, and headed down the same side corridor I’d gone before.

“Are you in a hurry, Supreme King?” Rugen’s taunting voice followed me as I walked, “Are you greedy to secure your victory? A good friend of mine once said, ‘A greedy man is always in want.’ Is there something that you want, Supreme King?”

Down the echoing back staircase, down to the lowest level of the arena…

“Something that you simply can’t live without? Something you have spent your whole life chasing in search of satisfaction only to find that no matter how tightly you grasp it, it slips from between your fingers like smoke?”

Down corridor past the empty dressing rooms, I swiped my badge to open the door to the scaffolding beneath the arena floor.

“Did it hurt to watch your monster disappear, Supreme King? Do you want to simply stop our journey and make your resting place here? Oh no, Supreme King, there is certainly a place in hell for you, but it isn’t here.”

The translucent floor of the arena above me was glowing red with Rugen’s _Circles of Torment_ , casting the scaffolding below into looming crimson shadows. It had been less than an hour, but I felt like it was an eternity since I’d been here and talked to Rugen, giving him my advice on how to stop Zarc. Even now I felt unsure. Maybe Zarc really was being hasty. Maybe Rugen’s new set of conditions had thrown Zarc off of his strategy, if he had expected Rugen’s usual tactics. Maybe.

Down another grated metal staircase along the wall was another security-locked door, and a tunnel that led up to the control room that was situated right underneath the RSV reactor. I swiped through the door, and found myself in almost pitch darkness except for the safety lights along the floor that guided me into the control room. The duel continued over the speakers in here, switching over to Rugen’s turn as he finished his poetic chiding of Zarc’s foolishness to lay out his play.

“Miss Akaba?” One of the black-uniformed technicians turned to look at me as I entered the control room, still dark but lit by multiple monitors that showed the action on the floor above from various camera angles. 

“The Professor sent me,” I said, trying to sound authoritative, “I need to assess the effect of the auxiliary reactor-conversion module on the arena’s parameters.”

“O-okay,” the technician said. One of his colleagues reluctantly gave up his seat in front of the monitor that tracked the energy usage from the reactor.

“How have the auxiliary reactor-conversion modules been interacting with the main reactor up until now?” I asked the nearest technician, scrolling back through the energy graph to read the various dips and spikes in the energy usage.

He looked a little nervous. “The ARC module has been consistent with our tests throughout the week. The energy usage spikes during major summons, as we observed, and this Field Spell is taking a lot of energy from both the main reactor and the ARC on Rugen’s energy scale.” He pointed at the corresponding line on the graph.

“What about Zarc?” I pressed, skimming the graph quickly without needing an explanation. “Have you noticed anything strange?”

“We’ve just been experiencing some hiccups between his ARC and the main unit’s readings. We think it’s just a glitch,” he said, pointing at some specific markers on the energy usage. “The ARC will react but the RSV unit has no reading. As for the monster that was summoned outside of the duel after Jericho’s defeat, we believe it was just an anomaly caused by the ARC’s most recently registered data. It was barely on the field for half a minute, so—”

I resisted the urge to grab the technician by the front of his shirt and shake him while screaming _An anomaly? It killed a man!_ , but in a falsely-calm voice I cut in, “So there was no energy reading from the ARC even though it clearly summoned a monster?”

“The only way we’re able to read the data from the ARC is through the sensors in the main unit,” he said in a half-apologetic, half-defensive tone. “If the RSV reactor is in standby mode…”

I stared at the graph with wide eyes. Of course. Of course. We’d built it this way, because it had never occurred to us that the module on Zarc’s wrist could interact with any other energy source than the RSV reactor itself. The energy readings came from the RSV interface, because it had never occurred to me before last night that Zarc could sustain his monsters any other way.

More of Rugen’s Malebranches—Alich, Drahig, Scarm—were crawling up from the pit onto the Field; their shrieks from the monitors were hard to ignore. They fused together to create a new monster, a traveler in gilded robes. There was another battle; Zarc rode on his Odd-Eyes Dragon’s back to evade the worst of the attacks, but at another point he skidded and tumbled and the dragon scrambled along the floor to shield him from another blast as he raised up his hand to activate—

I tore my eyes away. “F—fine,” I said, “And what about the damage-safe parameters? The arena limits?”

“What about them?”

“One of the safety barriers was shattered in the last turn.”

“What!?” 

The technician flicked through the images from his various camera angles of the arena until he landed on one that showed the broken pane of glass from when the Odd-Eyes Dragon had smashed into it.

“The limit parameters are running,” he said, “Monsters on the Field shouldn’t be able to affect the physical surroundings—it’s all controlled by the main RSV reactor—”

“But they have.” My heart was racing. Now I was certain; what I had been trying to denyto myself since that Dark Rebellion Dragon had reappeared to kill Jericho’s manager and Zarc had covertly wiped away that telltale blood from his face. He was using the ARC to project his monsters independently from the RSV unit using his own inexplicable power, and was therefore overstepping its usual limitations.

“Miss…?” the technician began, but I couldn’t gather my thoughts to respond to him.

There was a safety. It was simple; just my authorization code and a few easy settings to toggle. The Field would refresh, hardly any changes would be noticeable, but the ARC units on Zarc’s and Rugen’s wrists would be overridden by the main reactor as if they didn’t even exist, and Zarc couldn’t use my own work to sustain those monsters anymore. He’d be at the mercy of the reactor just like he used to be.

It wouldn’t be a waste; the data we’d gathered from the past duels in the evening would be sufficient to prolong our research so these discrepancies couldn’t cause problems again. Shino would understand that the danger to his property and spectators was a bigger threat than the cost of energy. No one in the audience would notice any changes. It wouldn’t affect the duel or the results. There wouldn’t be any harm in doing it. I placed my hand on the keyboard, ready to code in the commands.

From the monitor came Rugen’s voice again, showing another Spell card on his field. “I’ll choose a level, and one monster of that level will be banished from your Extra Deck. How about…” A wide smile spread across his face. “Level seven?”

A card from Zarc’s deck was projected onto the Field above the chasm, illuminated in red: _Clear Wing Synchro Dragon_.

“Say goodbye.”

The card burst into another shower of tiny sparks. Maybe it was just the echo from the audience, but I thought I heard the dragon cry out as it vanished.

Another dragon removed from play. Another of his beloved monsters out of his reach, this time even before he could bring it out to the field. That was the dragon that had gleefully carried me around and refused to put me down, had been so delighted when I put my arms around its neck. I looked back down at the keyboard before I had to see the reaction on Zarc’s face.

The cursor was blinking, ready for my authorization code. I had to take this away from him. I had to. He would hurt someone like he’d done last night, he’d hurt me and himself and…and even after all he had done for me and my career for the sake of his wild ambition I couldn’t allow him to keep his hold on his monsters this way. It wasn’t meant to be like this. And if his desperation grew worse during this duel, who knew what else he might try to do with the module’s energy.

“Hand me your radio, I want to speak to the Professor.” I held my hand out to the communications technician. He carefully removed his headset and handed it to me so I could speak into the mouthpiece. “Professor? Father? Yes, it’s me. It looks like the module is causing some glitching with the RSV’s safety protocols. I’m going to override the module back to the main reactor’s earlier settings.”

“Fine, I’ll let Shino know about it afterward. Come back quickly, then.”

“Thank you,” I said, handing the headset back to the technician. “The RSV system will return to its previous settings before the module was implemented and the module will act as standby power for the disk, rather than a joint power source on the projections.”

He nodded. I keyed in my authorization code, and clicked through to confirm the action.

It was instantaneous, but very subtle. Just a little refresh. The whirring sound of RSV unit kicked up in pitch the tiniest amount as it took over the whole of the projection energy, and a small yelp issued from one of the monitors.

I spun around, snapping my gaze from screen to screen until my eyes landed on the source of the noise. The Odd-Eyes Dragon had bristled suddenly, shaking its head and shoulders as though it had been stung by momentary pain.

_When they flicker out for that second, it pinches. They don’t like it, it hurts them._

So he had told me. An eternity ago, beneath lamplit trellises, before any of this had begun. Zarc looked up at his monster quizzically, and then back down at the screen on his disk. He raised his eyebrows, and then slowly lifted his face, not to look at Rugen, but to stare directly into the camera. Right at me.

Without excusing myself I sprang up from the chair and bolted out of the control room, back into the tunnel that let out to the scaffolding. 

He knew. He knew instantly.

“So, you’ve been watching, haven’t you?”

I froze. I was alone in the dark tunnel with nothing but the sound from the duel playing live through the speakers on the wall, but Zarc’s soft voice somehow sounded so close to me.

“You can’t win like this. You know that.” 

I stopped, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. I knew there was no one there. I knew he was on the Field in the arena, facing his opponent with these generic veiled threats, but for a moment I imagined him walking toward me out of the darkness, wearing a dark button-down shirt and with his hand outstretched to me just like he’d done last night.

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

I started walking forward, but every inch of my body wanted to run. Logically, I knew he must be speaking to Rugen. He had to be, it was the only thing that made sense, but it felt so acutely intimate…

“You can’t keep them away from me.”

_I’ve never let anything keep me away from them. Give them back, Ray._

“No.”

The word escaped my mouth as I started to run. I barreled through the dark tunnel to the staff-only door that led back into the foyer and flung it open to see Zarc staring right at me.

It was just a monitor. I let my back fall against the door as it closed behind me, suddenly shaking with adrenaline. He was looking with a soft smirk, not at his opponent, but into the camera that was trained on his face, projecting his piercing gaze onto every monitor in the stadium, as though his intention was to speak directly to the audience. But of course, the only person who would truly understand what he was saying was…

“You’re underestimating us. We will be stronger, like the world has never seen.”

“No,” I whispered under my breath, “You’re going to lose. You’re going to lose.”

My knees were shaking. I wanted to sink onto the floor and hide my face, as though he could somehow see me through the monitor, but instead I walked ghostlike back to the auditorium doors, focusing on the sound of my squeaking shoes on the glossy floor instead of the face on the monitors. 

“Watch me.”

The whisper echoed deafeningly through the empty halls, slipping under my skin and shivering up my back, coiling around my ankles and rooting me there, alone in the hall with my hand on the door to the stands. 

It was unmistakeable. I could pretend it was a coincidence but it was useless. He was talking to me, only to me. He was everywhere, anywhere I turned. He knew what I’d done and now it was as though I was his opponent, I was the one facing him on the field instead of his real adversary. I was the one stopping him from having what he wanted, instead of the cards in play. I slumped against the wall and closed my eyes, trying to shut out everything around me. There was no way he could use the ARC to hurt anyone now. He was at the mercy of the main reactor. Everything was the same as it had been months and months ago, before I’d even met him, but…

“What are you talking about, Supreme King?” Rugen’s wild laughter echoed over the speakers, “We’ve all but reached the end of our journey. It won’t belong now until we reach your end.”

“Miss? You okay?”

I looked up to see the security guard who had ignored me earlier standing a few paces away, slightly concerned with his hands on his hips. 

“I’m fine, thank you. I just…I needed some air.”

“Big fan, huh?” he said, offering me his hand. “My daughter, too. She’s been collecting all those magazines for years, gosh, she’s been _so_ excited about tonight. Hard to say how this will end. Look,” he glanced back up at one one of the screens, “He’s got that dark one back out again.”

Despite my aversion I looked up to see the Dark Rebellion Xyz Dragon out on the Field. Somehow in the short time I’d looked away Zarc had managed to call it out. Maybe Rugen was right; he really was being hasty, almost desperate to finish the duel. My stomach flipped over as I read the score along the bottom of the screen; Rugen somehow had fifty-two hundred points, and Zarc only had four hundred.

Four hundred lifepoints.

He was going to lose. I could forget about him, I would move on with my life and never think about him again or have to see his face on every magazine. The world would turn, and he would be gone. But…I…

“Do you need help finding your seat?” the security guard asked, but I walked right past him to push open the door to my aisle.

“Nasty, nasty dragon,” Rugen was saying as I found my seat again, “What a wrathful beast, not unlike yourself, wouldn’t you say? The Circles of Torment have a special place for creatures like this.”

He held out yet another Spell. It flashed up on the Field, but I was too distracted by what was happening below to read the card’s inscription. Some black substance was bubbling up from the depths of the chasm, giving off a heavy, acrid smell like hot tar. It spilled out of the mouth of the chasm, and the Odd-Eyes Dragon leapt up to avoid touching the thick ooze, but the Dark Rebellion Dragon shrieked out as the tar welled around its feet.

“ _Quick Styx_ ,” Rugen explained, “For the cost of one thousand lifepoints—” his counter on the scoreboard ticked down in response, “I may take control of one Xyz monster from your Field until the end of my turn.”

The black tar began to drag the Dark Rebellion Dragon away from Zarc’s side of the Field. It screeched at its master, flailing its dark wings to escape, but the more it struggled the more it seemed to sink into the tar. The Odd-Eyes Dragon above leapt from platform to platform, frantically shrieking and crying out to its helpless brother stuck in the tar, until the poor creature was immobile and covered in the black ooze that pulled it all the way over to lie helplessly below the place where Rugen stood, still sobbing feebly. Zarc’s face was livid again as he looked in panic from his hand of cards to his weakly crying monster. 

“Poor creature cannot attack this turn,” Rugen said in a mock-pitying voice, “The fate of the wrathful is to fight in vain until they are dragged to their sullen depths. But this is not your resting place, Supreme King. There is a more fitting place for you. Take a final look at your pathetic monster, whose anger once gave you power!”

“What will you do!?” Zarc demanded, a waver in his once-calm voice, and I got the distinct impression that he had lost control of his theatrical lines and was truly afraid now. 

“Didn’t I tell you that you can’t take anything with you to your final judgement here?” Rugen chided again, “We have farther down to go, Supreme King. Just a little farther. Would you like to meet the one who would exact your judgement?”

Zarc’s eyes were fixed on his dragon, which was now motionless, covered in tar, and no longer whimpering.

“Begone with this wretched creature,” Rugen said, and with a flick of his hand, the Dark Rebellion Xyz Dragon was gone in yet another shower of sparks. The Odd-Eyes Dragon screamed in grief to see its fellow vanish as Zarc bellowed in unhinged rage.

The third dragon had been banished. It was a pitiable moment, but the sparks from the dragon’s vanished body were reforming, rising above the heads of the two opponents and the audience, almost as high as the crystal above the arena.

“ _Rank-Up Magic, Ascension of the Burning Abyss_ ,” Rugen said, “I’ll have your wrathful monster become something that will bring about your final judgement, Supreme King. Something that will show you the truth of your sin, that will lay your fears bare to your slavish sycophants and finally hurl you down into the depths of your eternal punishment. Tell me, Supreme King, are you afraid?”

I was prepared for some other demonic creature, some leader of the army of Malebranches that clawed their way up from the chasm no matter how many times they were sent back down, but nothing prepared me for the monster that formed now.

A gorgeous, glowing woman, her hair and her blush-colored robes billowing about her as though she was underwater, bathed in golden rays of light and crowned with pure silver. It was unprecedented, to think that Rugen had this glorious card in his otherwise ugly, hellish deck. The stadium went completely silent, reverent, as she descended to face Zarc with the palms of her hands open to him. Zarc’s face was slack, his eyes were wide as he gazed at her, as though seeing far beyond her, and I felt a strange ache in my heart that had nothing to do with the scoreboard.

“Beatrice, Lady of the Eternal,” Rugen whispered.

The audience seemed too transfixed to applaud. Even Kari sighed beside me, although with her fingernails digging into her face.

“The deepest place in hell is reserved for traitors,” Rugen went on, “Like you. Why have you betrayed her?”

Zarc seemed to tear his eyes from the mesmerizing beauty of the woman to fix his gaze sharply on Rugen. “I’m not the traitor.”

“Oh no?” replied Rugen, his hideous smile twisting his face again, “She offered you the world and you threw her away. You couldn’t take your eyes off of your own hopeless desires to see her, could you?”

The ache pulled at me, as though my heart wanted to escape from my chest.

“She could have been your guide into heaven. She could have been everything for you.”

There were tears forming in my eyes, blurring my vision of the Field.

“But those who are overcome by greed, by ambition, by wrath and anger and bitterness…they can know nothing of heaven. She was far too glorious for you. She could never have saved you, with your heart so frozen in hell.”

“Shut up!” Zarc screamed, his fists clenched as he held onto the dragon’s spikes, “What do you know!?”

“Is this part of the card game…?” I heard Kari ask Danny beside me, “I don’t get it.”

“Ah,” Rugen said, and his grin widened at Zarc’s sudden candor, “It hurts, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, Supreme King, don’t worry. Soon you will feel nothing. Soon you will be buried face-down in the ice at the bottom of this abhorrent pit and forgotten, all your pain and hatred will be swallowed by the darkness. That will be good, won’t it?”

Zarc passed a hand across his face, covering his eyes as his shoulders shuddered.

“The Lady of the Eternal will bring forth your punishment now.”

She raised her hand, pointing at the Odd-Eyes Dragon. Zarc flung his arms around its neck as the dragon peeled off with a shrieking cry, leaping from platform to platform in its desperate attempt to evade the attack as she took aim at it. Beams of light burst from her hands as the dragon shrieked and scrambled, only barely escaping from each platform before her attack destroyed them, until—

The platform was too far away. The Odd-Eyes Dragon’s foot slipped on the edge and it fell, clawing in panic at the slick surface with its feet hopelessly grappling at the air beneath it, and the attack struck it squarely in the chest.

The dragon let out one last agonizing cry, and I watched as though in slow motion as Zarc fell. The arena fell silent as his final dragon dissolved into tiny particles of light, slipping from beneath his fingers like water as he closed his fists around the last remnants of his oldest friend, his last chance. The Odd-Eyes Dragon was gone.

Zarc hit the ground right at the edge of Rugen’s chasm, his head and shoulders dropping back into the maw that still swirled with writhing, twisted bodies in the bloody light from within. Dimly I heard the audience break into applause for Rugen as Zarc’s score ticked down to one hundred points. The projections out of the crystal above were focused on Rugen’s triumphant face as he waved graciously for the tumult, but I could hardly look away from Zarc. All of his beloved monsters had been taken away. He let his head fall back into the chasm, his eyes closed and his face slack as though he might simply let himself slip into its screaming depths. It was a pitiable moment. 

I had given Rugen everything he needed to defeat Zarc but if I was honest with myself, I had never expected this. My stomach twisted in unbidden guilt as I recalled the look on his face as I had held out that card and threatened to rip it in half right before his eyes. The ache in my heart deepened.

“Look at your King now!” Rugen called out to the audience, “Look at your once-proud champion, squashed like a worm under my heel. Let’s watch him make one last, desperate attempt for his life and his throne, shall we?”

The audience jeered in response. Kari was clinging to Danny’s arm and whispering under her breath, “No way. No way. No way no way no way…”

A heart-pounding drumbeat sounded out from the loudspeakers, heralding his final turn, faster and faster and greater in intensity. Zarc raised his arms to cover his hands with his face. His shoulders were shaking, heaving uncontrollably, as the scoreboard switched over to his turn. How pathetic. What a horrific end to him, stripped of everything he loved. Perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered turning off the ARC if it was going to end like this, with him lying on the floor in ruin and despair. It seemed too cruel now.

“No way no way no way no way…”

“Draw your final card, Supreme King.”

As though with great effort, Zarc pulled himself to his knees, his head bowed as his shoulders still shuddered. He slowly placed his two fingers on his deck and drew out one card, letting his left arm fall slack at his side as he stared at the new card in his hand. 

At the peak of their intensity the drumbeat stopped, and the audience was left in absolute silence. My heart was beating so heavily in my throat that I could hardly breathe. Zarc’s shoulders were still heaving, and through the utter silence came the deep, wracking sound of Zarc’s gasping breath.

No. He was laughing.

It was muffled at first, as though he was doing his best to hold it in, but he suddenly flung back his head, his back arched as he knelt on the ground at the edge of the hellish chasm, and laughed openly into the arena. It was a wild, unnerving sound that reverberated in my spine and made me recoil into the back of my seat.

“Let’s have a hand for my opponent!” Zarc cried, and there was an uncontrolled pitch in his voice, “He’s done so well this evening, what a fabulous display!”

A few people, including Kari, clapped a little hesitantly as Zarc got to his feet. Rugen’s face fell from his satisfied smirk into a bemused grimace.

“He’s lost his grip?” Kari was saying through the hands over her face, “Is this his idea of a farewell…?”

“This has all been very poetic,” Zarc went on, calling up to Rugen as his Lady of the Eternal looked down from him from above, “But I think you’ll find that nowhere in the depths of torment is there truly a place for me, Rugen.”

“I’ve cut off everything but your tongue, it seems,” Rugen replied smugly, “There’s a place in hell for everyone _like you_.”

Zarc was silent for another moment. He passed his eyes over Beatrice, Lady of the Eternal as she hovered in her golden rays of light above them, before fixing his suddenly cold gaze on Rugen.

“No one is like me.”

I pushed myself even farther back in my seat. 

Rugen sneered and began, “I think you’ll find that all—” but Zarc cut him off sharply.

“When I have less than two hundred lifepoints,” he said, “I can pay half of my remaining lifepoints to banish _this card_ from my hand and activate the Spell card that has been waiting in my Graveyard.”

Zarc’s score ticked down to fifty points, and a monster card was illuminated onto the field. I tried to squint to see what it was; not a dragon, but something that looked like a figure robed in starlight, but it instantly burst into sparks before I could see its name.

“And from my Graveyard I’ll activate _Unfettered Soul!_ ”

A second card flipped up onto the Field, accompanied by the immediate sound of shattering glass and a roar from deep within Rugen’s _Circles of Torment_ chasm. The Field seemed to tremble; Rugen shifted his feet to keep his balance as the platform beneath him quaked and a bright light from within the chasm began to shine from deep within the swirling maw.

“I shall declare one monster type,” Zarc called out, “And all banished monsters of that type shall be returned to the Field—”

A roar echoed from the depths of the chasm. They were ready to be unleashed.

“—and for each monster returned to the Field, my opponent receives 600 points in damage!”

The audience let the play sink in for another moment, and then burst into a tumultuous roar, stamping their feet and screaming in approval at Zarc’s play, but I stayed tense with my back pressed into my seat. Rugen looked down into the depths of his own chasm, every trace of smugness gone from his face.

“Didn’t I tell you there was no place in hell for us?” Zarc said, his voice soft even over the tumult from the stadium, “Didn’t I tell you we would be stronger than you could ever know?”

Rugen had nothing to say. The depths of the chasm boomed again, and he edged back from the brink.

“Come back, my dragons!”

The light within the chasm burst upward into a shower of glorious sparks, shooting out of the blood-lit maw like a geyser of blinding white, and from the heart of it flew—

—“Starving Venom Fusion Dragon!”

The serpentine, bulbous dragon returned, bursting from the shower of light in spinning coils to slash Rugen straight across the face. His scream of pain was drowned out as the audience shrieked as he fell to one knee, clawing at one of his eyes as blood gushed from under his hand. His score counter ticked down.

“Clear Wing Synchro Dragon!”

The second dragon burst forth from the pillar of light and wasted no time in clamping its jaws around Rugen’s shoulder and flinging him up high, high in to the air as the score counter ticked down again—

“Dark Rebellion Xyz Dragon!”

The third dragon flew out from the sparks of light before Rugen even fell back down, the sleek, black dragon with lightning crackling in its wings, and the razor-sharp blade from its jaw shining in the white light as it slashed across Rugen as he fell and his score counter ticked down once more—

Something heavy hit the plexiglass below our section, and the crowd went wild again, leaping up in their seats to see the carnage. I was at a bad angle to see it, and I avoided looking at the closeup projection from the crystal above, but it was impossible not to notice that Rugen was now sprawled on his back on the ground at the edge of the chasm with half of his right leg missing.

I clapped my hands to my mouth.

Zarc was laughing again; heavy, wracking peals, uncontrollable heaving. It made me feel cold and hot all at once, panicked and terrified and revolted.

“And one more,” Zarc said finally, raising his open palm toward the ceiling as the scarlet Odd-Eyes Dragon reformed and joyously sprang out of the pillar of light to land right beside Rugen’s splayed form.

It placed one of its feet on Rugen’s chest, and after a moment of contemplation as sweat poured from Rugen’s face and his chest heaved in throes of pain, the Odd-Eyes Dragon simply opened its mouth and roared right into Rugen’s face.

Zarc allowed himself a cheeky grin as his audience laughed and cheered and Rugen’s score ticked down another six hundred points. He was still alive and still vastly ahead in points, but the sick feeling in my stomach was bubbling up again. This would be the final turn of the night.

The Odd-Eyes Dragon leapt across the chasm to rejoin Zarc with its brothers, wrapping its tail around its master’s feet and its tail around his shoulders. And Zarc, surrounded by his four beloved monsters once again, closed his eyes as though soaking in the beautiful music of his monsters’ voices that only he could truly hear.

“We are not your playthings, Rugen,” he said clearly, still with his eyes closed in reverence, as the noise from the audience died down again. “We are not fools for your poetry. We are not here to serve your trite storybook puppetry. I’ve had enough of the charades and the theatre and the pretense of your stale canto. I’m tired of this, Rugen, and with your end I will be free.”

I wasn’t breathing. My heart was pumping in my mouth. Never had I thought Zarc would drop his ingratiating falsities for this. It couldn’t possibly mean…

“Starving Venom,” he said slowly, lifting a finger to point at Beatrice, Lady of the Eternal as she hovered majestically over the Field. “Kill her.”

It obeyed instantly, rocketing upward to wrap its body around the Lady of the Eternal, gasping her waist and her chest with its massive, bulbous claws and sinking its teeth deep into her throat. Her scream was drowned out again by the crowd’s cheers as she vanished, dispersing into another shower of sparks, and she and her warm, golden light were gone from the arena. Rugen’s score ticked down another three hundred points, leaving him with fifteen hundred remaining. The crowd clapped and screamed with approval, realizing immediately how this duel would truly end even after its harrowing pretext. I rocked back and forth in my seat, trying not to vomit or scream with the terror I felt.

Rugen was still lying on his back on the ground, staring up at the scoreboard on the ceiling as though unable to believe it. They’d once called him the Crippler; how horrifically ironic.

“What do you have, Rugen?” Zarc said, pacing back and forth along the edge of the chasm between them, “Anything? Did your confidence leave you behind with nothing to save you? Will it all really end like this? You were so close but your hubris only took you this far, to the edge of your own torment. What awaits you there, I wonder…?”

Rugen turned his head to look into his own inferno, the swirling, writhing bodies crying out in despair and agony, before focusing his gaze upon Zarc. His lips trembled for a moment, perhaps hesistant, but then he spoke quietly.

“She wanted this. She wanted me to kill you.”

The smile faded slowly off of Zarc’s face as he took in Rugen’s meaning.

“She told me your secrets, your weaknesses. And she was right. We know them now. We all know them.”

I couldn’t move. I could hardly feel at all. I wanted to scream and cry and run away, but Zarc said nothing. Even in the red light from the chasm his face was suddenly strangely pale. He looked down at the inferno, stretching deep below, far past the floor of the arena and driving straight down into the earth. He stood for a moment as though transfixed by the shadows within, the bloody light, before he raised his hand one more time and stroked along the scarlet-scaled neck of his Odd-Eyes Dragon.

“Go on.”

The dragon bounded forward. It scooped Rugen up in its arms and jumped, one platform to another, higher and higher above the chasm. I couldn’t hear what the audience was doing. There was some excitable movement beside me but I was paralyzed. The dragon reached the highest precipice with Rugen’s struggling body clenched in its claws, and then—

I had turned off the ARC’s influence over the duel. The monsters and the Field effects would be unable to damage the arena or its surroundings.

—the Odd-Eyes Dragon flung Rugen downward, right at the maw of his own Circles of Torment, down into the depths of his fiery chasm, with such force—

But if something were to affect the surroundings, something that was not bound to the parameters of the RSV’s safety protocol, something solid and real and organic—

Rugen was barreling toward the floor at impactful speed—

I was Zarc’s true opponent. I was.

—something like…a body…

Rugen hit the floor with a massive, earsplitting crash, the scoreboard counted his points down to zero, and the _Circles of Torment_ Field and all its projected assets flickered out of sight as the floor at Zarc’s feet shattered into a million tiny pieces. 

I flung my arms over my face and even at our level I felt tiny shards of the floor graze my hands. I heard my father cry out in shock and felt him leap out of his seat as though unable to believe what he had seen and immediately demand a response from the control room.

“Hello—? What happened? No, no, I _know_ the floor is shattered—hello? You’re breaking up—The machine, how is the machine? _How is the machine_? Is it…”

The stadium fell into a hush after the scream at the shattering floor, leaving Zarc standing alone at the edge of not a projected chasm, but a real one, sparking underneath with the severed wires and flickering projection plates from the machine below the floor, clearly and disastrously damaged.

“Oh my god,” my father groaned beside me. “He’s completely destroyed it.”

And then I understood. Zarc knew that I had cut the power from the ARC module on his duel disk, knew that Rugen had changed his usual strategy after speaking to me, knew that my efforts had all been to sabotage him, and so he had struck back at me in the closest way he could. This would take months to repair, a fortune, if it was possible at all. But now—

The ARC was in standby mode. Without the main reactor regulating its power distribution…

The spotlight illuminated onto Zarc, who flinched momentarily and squinted in the sudden light as though he had forgotten his usual theatrical deference entirely. The victorious music struck up louder and more decisive than ever before, heralding his ultimate triumph, but he stood there as though at a loss, stony and unresponsive as the crowd exploded around him. Kari and Danny sprang to their feet as confetti rained down over the entire auditorium, the commentator boomed over the loudspeaker, “THE ULTIMATE CHAMPION! THE UNDEFEATED VICTOR OF THE ARENA, THE MASTER OF THE REAL FIGHTS, YOUR SUPREME KING…!”

It went on and on, the fanfare, the celebratory music and whistling and stamping and screaming, clapping, waving. Kari was entangled in Danny’s arms, kissing him repeatedly in frenzied excitement; colorful followspots were dancing all over the stadium, flashing periodically into my eyes; some people were throwing flowers down into the arena to fall unceremoniously into the huge, shattered hole that Rugen’s body had left in the floor.

“I can’t believe it! I can’t—can you believe it, Ray?” Kari grabbed my arm and shook it frantically, jumping up and down, “The Supreme King! The _undefeated_ Supreme King! Will you see him again? Will you—”

But I simply sat next to my father, gripping the arms of my seat with my teeth clenched, staring down at the broken floor and the feebly sparking machine below. It felt like a deliberate slap right in my face. I was practically certain of it. After everything, after he’d invested so much into our research for his shimmering delusion and I’d defied him he had ruined my father’s work, this time truly destroyed it. The machine was neither unique to this arena nor irreparable, but I was certain he meant it as a message to me, and I was certain that he knew I’d understand it.

The music faded and the dancing spotlights all moved to focus on Zarc, a thousand beams of light trained on his face. The audience finally calmed their clamor to wait with baited breath for his victory speech.

He was silent for a while. His shoulders were still heaving as though he’d run a mile, even though he hadn’t moved an inch from where he had stood before Rugen had smashed through the floor. He was exhausted; whatever facade he’d carried through these four matches was completely spent. With all the eyes in the stadium upon him, he drew in a breath.

“So,” he began, slowly raising his face to look around the stadium. The spotlights washed out his face and made his eyes seem strangely bright. “Are you all satisfied?”

The audience began to clap again, and then cheered, and then rose once more to a thunderous scream: “ _NO! WE ARE NOT SATISFIED! SHOW US MORE, ZARC!!”_

“IS THIS THE END?” Zarc bellowed as the cries went on.

“ _ZARC! ZARC! ZARC! ENCORE! ENCORE! MORE! MORE! MORE!!”_

“SO WHICH OF YOU WILL FACE ME?”

The cheering was interspersed with laughter, but a few people stopped clapping, somewhat confused. My father had his fingers pressed into both of his ears, still trying to hear the reports from the control room.

“ISN’T THERE ANYONE LEFT WHO WILL FIGHT ME!?”

More of the howling and laughter died away; the audience seemed unsure of how to respond. A few people along my row murmured to each other, “Is he serious?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to see more?” Zarc shouted again, “Who, then? A volunteer?”

“The machine is broken, he can’t possibly,” Father was saying, “There’s no power to it at all.He can’t take another opponent even if—”

“I’M NOT SATISFIED!” Zarc bellowed again, “IF YOU SAY YOU WANT MORE, THEN I WILL CONTINUE TO FIGHT! I WILL GET STRONGER, I WILL FIGHT MORE FIERCELY. ISN’T THAT WHAT YOU WANT? ISN’T IT!?”

The virulence in his voice was unmistakeable to me, after I had heard his anger and bitterness at his greedy and insatiable audience last night.

The cheering and chanting started up again. “THAT IS WHAT WE WANT!” they screamed, “SHOW US MORE DESTRUCTION! SHOW US MORE, ZARC! MORE, ZARC! MORE! MORE! MORE!”

A smile, mirthless and utterly cruel, cracked across his face. The sight of it made my viscera recoil; so inhuman and savage it was in his pale face and his eerily bright eyes…

“Very well!” he said, with his arms outstretched as though their chanting had restored his theatrical bravado. “If those are your wishes I will gladly meet them! Your desires for destruction will be our power, your cries for blood will be our strength! We will take your thirst and show you a miracle beyond your wildest expectations, a most magnificent power to destroy even the whole world!”

“Destroy the…world?” My father stuttered beside me, “What is he—?”

The four monster cards, his dragons, were in his hand. The RSV unit below was broken. There was no power to it and it had no control of the stadium. The ARC on his duel disk was in standby mode as a backup power source. 

I realized what Zarc was about to do only a split second before he did it. He raised his arm and struck his four cards down onto the light plane of his disk, and then suddenly—inexplicably—they were there. All of them. Independent of the broken, useless machine below him, but solid all the same, just as I’d seen last night.

“It’s not possible!” My father shouted, but his protests were drowned out by another wave of cheering, screams of _ENCORE! ENCORE!_ as my father leaned forward in his seat to shout into his radio, “You said there was no power to the reactor! How are there monsters on the Field? _HOW ARE THERE—_ ”

The Starving Venom Dragon stretched its writhing vines into the direction of the audience, and screams of shock and horror suddenly broke through the applause.

“You said you wanted more,” Zarc said, his voice seemed quiet even though it was amplified over the confused shouts. A man was dangling from the dragon’s tendrils, struggling and screaming as his family near his empty seat reached out to him with panicked screams of terror.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

The dragon slammed the man into one of the protective plexiglass panels and then flung him bodily across the arena, where he fell in a contorted, motionless heap.

“Stop the machine! Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!” My father yelled into his radio, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE POWER IS OFF? DO YOU SEE WHAT’S HAPPENING—”

“What about…you?” Zarc said, pointing toward another seat in the audience. Instantly and obediently the Clear Wing Dragon flew out to the audience and descended upon its target with its huge, crushing claws and flung the spectator high into the air. The body flailed as it flew in a high arc over the heads of the crowd and came down only to be snapped viciously in the dragon’s jaws.

“Let’s get out of here, get out—!” My father grabbed my upper arm, vice-like, and pushed me violently out to the aisle. The other audience members were tripping and pushing, screaming in terror and crawling over one another to escape from the stadium as the Dark Rebellion Dragon sent its shards of violet lightning into another section of the stadium and shrieked out its wrathful cry. I saw the hem of Kari’s indigo-blue dress disappear into the throng ahead desperately shoving toward the doors to the foyer as I climbed over vacated seats to join the mass escaping into the aisle with my father’s hand still locked around my arm.

But even despite my own terror I couldn’t help but look behind me, down at the arena floor where Zarc stood, and in that instant one of the dragons burst straight through the ceiling, shattering the glass dome above, and the crystal that had hung above the audience swung violently and then—as though time momentarily slowed down as I watched—fell. It smashed through thearena floor and sent a burst of explosive fire into the air, but even through the blaze I could see Zarc’s silhouetted figure with his arm theatrically outstretched as though still to invite the crowd’s applause.

One of the dragons flew above our heads and a beam of blinding light cracked along the row of seats right below us, exploding into a sudden burst of flames as the people in the lower rows were obscured from view. The dragon descended below the wall of fire and I saw bodies tossed suddenly into the air like screaming, flailing confetti, hurled by the massive jaws of the monster to fall like ragdolls into the pit on the arena floor. My father pushed me forward and I had to turn around so as not to fall.

“Don’t look, Ray, don’t look—”

But it was no use. Out in the foyer the chaos reigned as the dragons smashed through the high ceiling again to descend upon the crowd. The supportive pillars that held up the ceiling in the lobby were crashing down, pinning bodies beneath them, mingling blood with broken glass and smashed granite on the once-glossy floors. More of the crowd were tossed into the air or slammed into the ground by claws and jaws and tendrils; everywhere I could possibly look was more nightmarish violence, more death, more destruction. By the wall near our aisle door the familiar bodyguard sat on the floor, cradling the figure of a teenage girl and sobbing, “Rachel…Rachel…”

“Why…why…” my father croaked, clinging to me as though he might faint, “Why are they doing this…to us…”

“They’re angry,” I said, almost without thinking. “The monsters are…angry at us.”

I knew it to be true as soon as it left my mouth. Even beneath my own terror and panic the rage and wrath of the monsters was throbbing at my heart like a hammering spike. But my father was frozen, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as though my words were more shocking to him than the horror and madness happening around us. “The monsters…”

“Come on!” I said, and this time it was my turn to pull him along as he stumbled over the shards of glass and debris. We had to get past the stairs, but I could hardly see past the crowd in front of me. Down the stairs, and then we could make a break for the doors out into the plaza and find a place to hide. Down the stairs, if we could just get down the—

A fresh wave of screaming issued in front of me and the current of the crowd changed, pushing back against me and then shoving sideways as though everyone changed direction to avoid running into some new danger. A few people ducked and cowered with their arms over their heads as another high-pitched, bloodcurdling shriek erupted from somewhere ahead, crackling bursts of light and then a dark shape that flew upwards again through the smashed ceiling and out of sight. 

The crowd was moving out of the way. I couldn’t understand why but I couldn’t afford to wait; the stairs down to the main lobby and out the doors were clear and straight ahead. We could run right there, it would be easy...

But the stairs were not completely clear. Amid the debris halfway down the stairs, there was a dark shape that suddenly drew my eyes. A familiar shape. I felt my stomach heave—I didn’t want to look—I couldn’t bear to look—

There was blood pooling and dripping slowly down the stairs from the two bodies that lay heaped there, motionless and contorted like broken dolls with cut strings. One of them was wearing an indigo-blue dress, and an engagement ring glittering on her limp, open hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14: Sin


	14. Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again for the long wait between updates, but I'd kick myself if I didn't post a chapter when the end of ZarcRay Week fell on the same day as the anniversary of Arc-V's finale!

 

>   _Help, I lost myself again,_
> 
> _But I remember you._
> 
> _Don't come back, it won't end well,_
> 
> _But I wish you'd tell me to._
> 
> _…_
> 
> _Retrace my lips,_
> 
> _Erase your touch,_
> 
> _It's all too much for me._
> 
> _Blow away_
> 
> _Like smoke in air_
> 
> _How can you die carelessly?_

—Billie Eilish, "Six Feet Under"

* * *

 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The scream ripped out of my throat as I tore myself out of my father’s grasp and lunged forward down the stairs.

_It can’t be, it can’t be, no way no way no way…_

Kari was on her back with her arm twisted out at a weird, unnatural angle, her glasses askew and her eyes half-open and empty. There was a dribble of blood leaking from the corner of her mouth onto the white scarf around her neck, staining it a bright, blooming red.

“ _KARI! KARI!_ ”

But there was far too much blood leaking out on to the stairs for her to still be breathing. Danny was lying on top of her, as though he’d thrown himself in front of her to shield her, but the deep gouge in his back must have gone all the way through him, skewering them both as though on a blade. 

All of the noise around me suddenly sounded muffled. There was nothing but a high-pitched ringing, pulsing along with the blood pounding in my ears as my white-hot panic closed me off from everything else, distant, as though I was underwater. Yes, I was drowning. I must be drowning, because this must be a dream, it had to be. A nightmare. I’d wake up any second and go into work and Kari would be there at her desk to greet me, to adjust her glasses with a sassy smirk and ask me about—

The stairs shuddered beneath me and the world around me slammed back into acute and horrifying presence. My throat was raw from screaming. My hand was on Kari’s clammy, motionless wrist. Everyone was running, distantly I heard my father ’s strained voice desperately cry “ _RAY! GET OUT OF THERE!_ ” but I couldn’t make sense of any of it. Not until the huge shadow fell over Kari’s bloodless face, and I slowly looked up.

The Dark Rebellion Dragon was looming over me, its livid eyes wide and glowing, its great bladelike tusk glistening with undeserving blood. I felt my lungs expand, and then—

“ _YOOOOOUUUUUU!_ ”

I was on my feet, my hands balled into fists, suddenly overcome with rage as I screamed at the monster. I didn’t know—I didn’t care—if the rage coursing through me was mine or the monster’s but in that moment I could use it anyway.

“ _YOU TOLD ME YOU DIDN’T WANT THIS_!” I bellowed at it, thrusting my finger forward in accusation right between the dragon’s eyes. “ _YOU TOLD ME YOU DIDN’T WANT TO HURT ANYONE! YOU TOLD ME—YOU TOLD ME—_!”

The dragon shrieked right back in my face, its glowing eyes rolling madly as it spread open its wings, sparks and flashes of lightning crackling from its unearthly aura. Its anger struck through me like a knife, right through into my heart, and suddenly myhead pounded and my vision blurred—the noise and chaos of the foyer muffled again, but this time not from my own panic—but from the visions that now rose unbidden into my mind and obscured the whole world around me.

An image of myself, in last night’s pink dress, clutching at the bleeding gash in my arm. A feeling of guilt to have caused the injury, overwhelming shame and remorse, and Master was hurting. In the vision the image of me reached out and cried, _You didn’t mean to! It’s not that bad, it’s okay…_

But then the image dissolved, and reformed anew. An image of myself, still in that dress from last night, holding out a card like it was a shield, holding out a card to tear between my fingers. The _Dark Rebellion Xyz Dragon_ card. Terror, so much terror. The nice girl was not nice. The nice girl was scary. The girl had lied, she had said her wound was not that bad, but she must truly be angry. She wanted to hurt Master. Nice Ray, lovely Ray, how could she do this? How could she? Master was hurting—She was hurting him—She was bad—Even she was bad like everyone else—

And then the world returned to me in horrific measure. My father was still crying out for me. The dragon was still looming above my head, its glowing eyes fixed on meand the lightning still cracking in dark violet sparks as I stared, transfixed, back into its face, at its shining, razor-sharp tusk that had only moments ago driven straight between Danny’s shoulder blades and into Kari’s throat.

“I didn’t—” I heard myself say, “I didn’t—I didn’t choose you on purpose—I know you didn’t want to hurt me—I was just trying to—”

But the dragon opened its mouth and drowned out my pitiful excuses with another furious scream. It understood nothing but terror and hurt, pain and betrayal and anger. It believed that the accidental injury it had given me had driven me to choose it as the hostage I had threatened to kill.

“Please—please—”

But the monster’s anger peaked, and I felt so sick and overcome that I was hardly able to move or breathe. The dragon spread its wings, crackling again with violet lightning, building its strike at me…I turned to run backward but stumbled on the blood-slick stairs. The side of my head banged against the stair railing. Someone was still calling my name. The dragon was about to strike. It was going to kill me. I reached my arm out to pull myself up. It was going to kill me—

And then a blinding white light burst out from somewhere above me. I made to shield my eyes, but the shape that was forming was one that was familiar, so I squinted through the dazzling, glorious white light to the figure that hovered above me. The dragon’s eyes lifted; its jaw dropped open as it gazed in a sudden stupor at the apparition, blinded, dazzled, completely overcome. It seemed after a moment to come to itself, squeezing its eyes shut and shaking its sleek head to recover from the blinding light and snap itself out of its daze.

My Nightingale, with her glowing wings outstretched, rose over me like a guardian. The dragon seemed to waver between staring in wide-mouthed shock at the beautiful creature above me and trying to shake itself out of the stupor that had overtaken it upon seeing her. I was still terrified, but the dragon’s emotions were still palpable and distinct from mine now. The rage that had flooded out from it as it imparted its wrathful visions to me ebbed away as its new wonderment took over, swooping back and forth between rage at me and awe at the Nightingale, the desire to carry out its vengeance and the urge to simply keep staring at her lovely form. So angry, but so smitten.

Its claws scraped and stumbled on the rubble of the staircase as the dragon backed away from me, still tossing its head madly as its instincts warred within it, until it shrieked out in confusion and spread its wings again, and rocketed upward through the smashed ceiling and out of sight. 

The weight of its wrath lifted from me, but my blood was pounding so heavily in my head that I could hardly think. The Nightingale was still above me, and I raised my shaking hand to touch the hem of her robes, but my fingers passed through right through it; she was only a hologram…or maybe an illusion. She looked down at me and nodded once, and then faded out of sight.

“Ray!” my father caught me around the shoulders, “You’re alright? We have to go, we have to get out of here—what _was_ that just now—?”

I blinked. I was half-kneeling, half-lying on the stairs, still right beside Kari and Danny’s bodies, but I was holding a card in my hand, the _Nightingale_. My duel disk plane was alight; had I summoned that monster? It felt like so much time had passed; the visions that had spilled out from the dragon’s wrath into my heart, the Nightingale’s glorious light that had driven it away…had it only been seconds?

“How is this happening?” My father was saying, dragging me by my wrist down the stairs and away from Kari and Danny’s motionless figures, “The reactor is destroyed…there’s no way those monsters can be solid—”

“It’s the ARC,” I choked, my voice hoarse from screaming, “The module we made—Zarc is using it to sustain his monsters—”

My father’s hand tightened around my wrist. I expected him to exclaim again that it was impossible, that the power capability of the ARC could do no such thing—but he simply said, “Not for long.”

Yes, that must be true. He couldn’t sustain them forever. Any minute now Zarc would give out. The monsters terrorizing and destroying and killing everything in sight would vanish, and Zarc would be spent. Maybe dead.

There was a distant booming, almost like canons, echoing from the street outside. Gunshots? There were police sirens, crashes and screaming; and as my father and I shoved our way out onto the street, I realized we were no safer than we were inside the arena.

The whole city was their arena now, and the dragons were still descending on the panicking throng. We had barely made our way into the plaza when something huge flew in a glowing streak across my vision and smashed catastrophically into the side of a nearby building, sending a shower of rubble and broken glass into the panicking throng. I looked to my right and saw the Clear Wing Synchro Dragon dive down into the cluster of cars that were wailing their horns and mounting the sidewalk to get free from the jam. It peered down, fascinated, at all the cars, waggling its tail at the excitable honking and the blinking lights, and then it clamped one of the cars between its huge claws and lifted it right off of the street and flung it across the plaza as easily as if it were a ball to play with. The car smashed into the concrete and rolled, bursting into flames until it stopped merely yards away from us, and the silhouettes of the passengers inside slumped grotesquely against the inside of the windows. The dragon flew in a loop of excitement in the air above the chaos, so pleased that its audience seemed to be screaming and cheering their approval just like they did when it played in the arena.

My father and I ducked as the Clear Wing Dragon flew over us to chase its toy; I felt its pride and enjoyment clash strangely with my own horror, and it excitedly began to rip the wheels off of the overturned car and hurl them back at the frantic crowd.

“The dragons—they’re outside—?” My father was mumbling breathlessly in my ear, “They’re out of bounds—the reactor is destroyed—this can’t be—”

“It’s the ARC,” I croaked, whipping my head around to look him in the face so he would be sure to hear me, “It’s that thing we built—he’s using it to override the RSV system—”

“He _can’t_ —”

“ _He is_!” I screamed, grabbing his wrist and shaking it so he would really listen to me. “I don’t know how he can keep it up but that has to be how he’s doing it!”

My father’s jaw clenched. I saw his eyes fix on the Clear Wing Dragon as it swooped again overhead, and I looked around to watch as a sudden sharp round of gunshots issued from the throng of honking and wailing vehicles. Through the crowd of pedestrians in the plaza still desperately running to safety, I could see police officers leaning out of the windows of their cars to aim rifles and handguns up at the dragon. It wriggled as the bullets glanced off of its armor-like scales, and I felt its sickening glee twinge with annoyance. This game was not fun anymore. It turned and squinted down at its assailants on the ground, searching through the flood of vehicles until it located the source of the bothersome prickling. With a scream and a swipe of its tail it lunged down on one of the police cars and grabbed it with such force that its claws dented the sides of the car, and lifted it off the road.

We realized what it was about to do a split second before it moved.My father grabbed me by the upper arm and flung me sideways as the Clear Wing Dragon sent the police car careening through the glass entryway of the arena, inches from where we had been standing. We lay flat on the ground and covered our heads with our arms as the glass rained down on us and the police car rolled to a stop in the atrium, with a wake of more bodies it had bowled over. I wanted to vomit, but I was too much in shock. The dragon turned around in the air and descended upon the next police car that was still peppering it with bullets that ricocheted off its scales.

“It’s no use,” my father was saying as I helped him to his feet again, “They’re not flesh and bone. They can’t be killed or harmed like this. They’re made for the…”

His eyes widened. He turned sharply backward to look back into the atrium of the arena as the last surviving spectators straggled out of the gaping hole where the glasss doors used to be.

“Father…?”

He looked back at me with a new expression, earnest and with building resolve. “Give me that.”

I looked down. He was pointing at my wrist. My duel disk.

“What? Why?”

“Give it to me.”

He made a swipe for my opposite wrist, but I moved out of his way.

“What are you going to—?” I began, but already he was digging into his coat pocket and extracting a scuffed, foxed stack of cards. “ _No_!”

Another car flew over our heads and smashed a few yards away as its passengers’ screams abruptly ceased. 

“They’re still monsters,” my father said, “They still have to play by the rules. If I duel him—”

“You can’t!” I screamed, “You know what’ll happen—you saw what he did to the others—”

“Ray!” he bellowed back with that stern tone I knew too well, “If he has to duel his monsters will be drawn away from the crowd. Everyone can escape safely—you can escape and then—”

“No!” I shrieked again, “I’m not leaving without you! We’re going to get out of here together!”

“If he’s a true duelist, he’ll accept my challenge. His Field will reset. He’ll start with no monsters, like the rules require,” he said, his voice a little more even now, “The dragons will _have_ to disappear, and even that delay might give the police time to…I don’t know, arrest him or kill him or whatever they have to do. Even if he can use the ARC module to somehow override the reliance on the main system, it still binds him and his monsters to the rules of the game. It’s worth a try.”

I allowed myself to look him in the eyes for one more second, weighing his resolve and logic against my utter terror, and then I slowly removed my deck from my duel disk, pressed the button to disengage the wrist brace, and handed it over to him.

The moment he had it in his hands, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Get out of here. Go.”

“No,” I said again. I’d anticipated this. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“There’s no point in both of us—”

“That module was my project too!” I cried, “If we made this happen together, we’re going to stop it together!”

A crease formed between his eyebrows, as he looked from my resolute face over my shoulder to the dragon outside that continued to wreak havoc on the cars in the plaza.

“Fine,” he said, “Fine, but promise me— _promise me—_ that if I don’t make it, you won’t try anything else. You’ll run. Okay?”

I nodded, clasping his hands between mine. “I promise.”

We turned back to look inside the arena. Kari and Danny’s bodies were—mercifully, since I couldn’t bear to look again—obscured by the overturned police car and the officer that hung limply halfway out of the open window, but there was no longer any movement in the atrium. Just motionless bodies, and the dark blood pooling on the glossy floor.

“Is he still in there?” I asked tentatively, although I was fairly sure I already knew the answer. His body couldn’t sustain these monsters’s physical form except under massive strain. He could hardly move. Our best chance was to head back into the stadium—where we’d only just escaped from—and face him there. 

“He must be.”

My heart continued to hammer in my chest as we made our way back across the foyer. My father let go of my wrist to wrap his arm around my shoulders, and I kept my eyes level, fixed on the passageway back into the stadium rather than to look down at any of the blank, pale faces that littered the ground as we walked together with ghostlike determination. The screams, crashes and booming were still issuing from behind us in the plaza, more screeching car horns and the sound of bullets, but the pounding of my own heart in my ears was beginning to drown all of that out.

In the corridor I made to turn right, to enter one of the doors to the arena seating, but my father pulled me to the left.

“The private boxes,” he said hoarsely, “If I’m up higher I’ll have a better view of the Field.”

I nodded silently. The pounding was in my throat as well as my ears now. 

We took the stairs to the highest floor, the prime box seating level that also included Shino’s office, where I’d been merely hours earlier even though it felt like a year. It was a wide, lavishly decorated corridor with a dark vaulted ceiling, plush carpeting and sconces along the wall, hung at intervals with photographs of Elites from their time at the top of the league. I avoided looking at them and fixed my eyes forward. The other side of the wall were panels of frosted glass that separated the corridor from the private viewing boxes. No one was around; perhaps the guests in the box seats had escaped before the massive crowd had choked the lobby. Distantly I could see that Shino’s office door at the end of the hall was ajar; the lights were still on, but there was no sound or movement issuing from inside. He must be gone, as well.

Why was my heart pounding _so_ loudly? I could hardly hear anything else, not even my father’s heavy breathing as he held my duel disk clenched in his hand.

_Calm down_ , I breathed deeply, _He won’t die. We’ll escape when the dragons have vanished and Zarc has been apprehended. My father won’t die. My father won’t die._

It smelled strange up here. The fumes from the charred stadium seats that had burned in the dragons’ attacks wafted up in waves of acrid melted plastic. But there was a hint of something else creeping under the smoke, like a sweet, organic kind of musk. It was familiar and yet out of place, only vaguely tied to a memory I might’ve had, but something I couldn’t identify.

I closed my eyes. I’d smelled this before. It wasn’t a chemical; it reminded me of a garden or a greenhouse. I breathed in again, wishing my heart would slow down. It was like the scent a flower. Very sweet; sickly even, and a bit acidic and sour, the way it stung at the back corners of my tongue. Pollen, perhaps, or sap. Or…

I stopped walking abruptly, and my father looked around at me quizzically.

The pounding was not my own heart.

I realized what the smell was coming from in the same instant that the single glutinous drop fell from the ceiling and left a caustic, sizzling hole in the plush carpet.

I threw my whole weight against my father’s shoulder and shoved him bodily into the wall as the vinelike tendrils snaked down around us, only barely missing us at a whipping speed that shrieked right past my ear. The floor quaked as something massive slammed down right beside us in an undulating tangle of sap-covered, tentacle-like pincers, and the Starving Venom Fusion Dragon swayed to its feet to loom over our heads.

Whether it had followed us, or lurked up here unseen, I had no idea. I had not even detected the presence of its emotions—perhaps I’d been lost in my own thoughts and dread, or else it had masked itself from me—but it couldn’t quite hide that sweet, toxic smell. But now that it made itself known I felt the sudden gush of its lust and savage hunger, the euphoria of finding another prey to wrap in its coils. Its tongue hung out and its caustic drool continued to leave smoking holes in the carpet with each drop. Even the strange, bulbous orifices on its shoulders and thighs opened up like jaws to reveal more teeth, to ooze more saliva, to exhale more of that putrid, sweet scent all over the corridor.

I scrambled to my feet, dizzy with the sudden presence of the dragon hammering on my chest, dragging my father up with me.

“Shino’s office—!” I screamed, pointing to the open door at the end of the hall, “We’ll barricade ourselves—” I pushed him forward as the dragon uncoiled its body behind us—

But he stumbled, and the Starving Venom Dragon whipped its hooked tail over the floor of the corridor in a wide, sweeping circle that shattered the panes of glass beside us into huge, razor-sharp shards, and I felt my father’s hand tear out of my own.

“No!” I shrieked, and I turned to see my father on the floor, clutching his shin in pain as the vines from the dragon’s back crawled out to slowly and viciously encircle him. “Not my father! NOT MY FATHER!”

With hardly a thought I lunged at the floor, closed my fingers around the largest and most jagged chunk of glass I could find, and drove it straight through the taut length of one of the vines that was coiling itself around my father’s chest. The dragon let out a piercing, bloodcurdling scream and recoiled its vine in pain, but I couldn’t stop. My own anger was taking over; my panic, my desperation, as blood ran from the palms of my hands that clutched this jagged shard of glass and kept driving it over and over into every sinew of vine that held onto my father, screaming and screaming as the dragon also screamed and released him from its pincers. 

But it pulled out new vines, infinitely reparable as they were, that snaked around and between my wrists and locked my arms from moving any more, lifting me up from the floor by my arms as my legs dangled helplessly, and my father struggled to stand on his freshly injured leg as he looked up in horror at me with his mouth wide open in a silent scream. The dragon lifted me high, high above the floor, until its gaping mouth with its disgustingly sweet odor was right beneath me. It unlocked its jaw and opened wider and wider, unnaturally, grotesquely wide. Ah, it was ravenous, insatiable, and its sickening emotions consumed me even before it wrapped more of its vines around me. It bound my feet, and then around my waist and chest until I could hardly breathe, and in my last agonizing movement I twisted just to look at my father below me, to wordlessly tell him to run away—

_Don’t challenge Zarc—don’t die for nothing—run away, just run away—_

_—_ until the tendrils wrapped around my mouth, and then my throat—just like he had last night, when I might as well have died…when I might as well have just closed my eyes—when I might as well have torn all those cards apart and let him kill me rather than this—all of this—

I couldn’t inhale the smell of its breath anymore. The Starving Venom Fusion Dragon below me swam in and out of focus, its gleaming green eyes leaving streaks across my vision, opening its mouth to lash out its oozing tongue. I would die if it meant my father could escape. I would die if it meant never having to face this horrible, gutting guilt ever again…its anticipation began to invade my thoughts, overwhelming my ability to think or move or breathe…

…ah, so hungry, so hungry…this one would be so sweet and tender…Master would not mind a taste, would not begrudge that succulent snap of the bones or the sweet acid from the viscera…so hungry…

But something bolted out of the corridor, from beyond my blurred vision; something scarlet and gold that slammed at full speed against the salivating dragon below me. I felt myself fly, weightless for a profound moment as the vines loosened from around my chest and legs, before my shoulders and back hit the wall and I crumpled limply to the floor. 

The crashing went on and on, violent tremors in the floor and furious screeching that faded in and out of my sight as my body shuddered with involuntary gasps and I felt the sweat build up on the back of my neck. I tried to move my frozen spine just enough to see what had happened—what had saved me—how it possibly—

The Starving Venom Dragon was rolling and writhing on the floor, screaming and flailing its vines and whipping its hooked tail, leaving deep gouges in the carpet, the wall, anything within its radius as it grappled viciously with the creature that had thrown itself into battle, a great scarlet beast with a golden face.

The Odd-Eyes Dragon.

It bashed its head against the Starving Venom Dragon’s horns, screaming with rage and using its powerful feet to pin the lithe, snakelike body down to the carpet as their claws slashed at each other. I didn’t understand. How could they be fighting each other? The tangle of emotion I felt from them both was too much to comprehend, pressing down on my chest as though the vines were still gripping me, mingling too chaotically for me to be able to discern them in my hazy brain.

The Starving Venom Dragon’s tail whipped up and hooked around the Odd-Eyes Dragon’s neck, and in that split second the scarlet beast lost control, slipped sideways and allowed the serpentine coils to slide free from the floor. It rose back up—high above the Odd-Eyes Dragon, looming at the ceiling like a massive, poisonous, malicious demon and lunged forward—opening its jaws to clamp the scarlet dragon’s neck in its oozing, steaming fangs—

But with one smooth, impossibly deft and acrobatic movement, the Odd-Eyes Dragon spun on its heel, whirling in a magnificent blur as its tail flew upward in a wide arc and struck the Starving Venom Dragon so fiercely across the face that the Venom Dragon flew back across the corridor, smashing through another pane of glass to land in a heap of slender coils, bulbous limbs, and shards of glass.

The scarlet Odd-Eyes Dragon huffed out a heavy breath, and then slowly turned around toward me again. It would be easy—just a quick stomp and I’d be dead. _Get it over with. Just do it, so my father can live. After all, this is all my fault…_

The dragon moved toward me. My whole body was shaking uncontrollably, unable to move and lying helplessly on the floor.

_Go on._

It lowered its head to bow right over me.

_Kill me._

Instead it simply fixed me with its dual-colored gaze; its strangely, perfectly contradictory eyes locked onto mine, and it happened again.

My head pounded. A surge of visions. An absolute flood of images that filled my mind and obscured my eyesight, so powerful and intense that I was completely lost in them, image after image in frantic, disjointed sequence. But this time…this time, the images the dragon showed me were far more vivid, far more disturbing and confusing than I’d ever seen, images I recognized but which should have never been…

“…how…”

But before I had even a moment to process the images I’d seen, that heartbeat sounded again, pounding through my chest, and the dragon stiffened suddenly. Even behind it I saw the Starving Venom Dragon straighten up abruptly, both dragons focused acutely on the direction of the center of the arena beyond the box windows as though they’d forgotten all about my father and me. Another heavy pound of the heartbeat, and both of the dragons in unison kicked off of the ground and bolted toward the arena, smashing through the box windows and out of sight.

“Ray…”

I could barely move, but I managed to roll over onto my stomach as my father crawled toward me, dragging his injured leg behind him.

“He’s calling them,” I said without hesitation as I pushed myself up with my stinging, bleeding hands, “He’s calling them to him.”

“Now is our chance, then,” he said, and we helped each other to our feet, shaky and limping. “Shino’s office.”

I nodded. I didn’t have the strength to argue with him, or to insist we just run away. We made our way slowly down the corridor, silently, slowly, clinging to one another. We passed the threshold to Shino’s office, and I didn’t bother to close the door. The window that overlooked the arena floor was ominously smashed open, and my father and I dragged ourselves to crouch at the edge of the floor by the window and look down upon the arena.

He was there. Zarc, standing atop the fallen crystal that had projected his duels for the swooning crowd as though it were a foe he had conquered. But he was still, with his head drooped backward to expose the length of his neck, his eyes closed and his chest and shoulders spread in a sort of transcendent meditation. His mouth was slightly openas he breathed in and out and the sound of his heartbeat once again pounded inexplicably in my ears like a harrowing drum. But while last night he had been erratic, frantic and desperate, he seemed calm now, composed and resolved, simply worshipping in the presence of his glorious monsters as they gathered around him. Having felt their master’s summons, the Dark Rebellion and Clear Wing Dragons soared in through the shattered ceiling to join the other two.

My father stood up, shaking on his injured leg, and fixed my duel disk onto his wrist. He drew in a breath, ready to call out his challenge to Zarc.

But in that moment the Odd-Eyes Dragon let out a piercing roar, and I felt their collective heartbeat thump against my chest. I reached up to grab my father’s lab coat and drag him back down.

“Wait,” I said, with a mounting sense of dread as I watched.

The Dark Rebellion Dragon joined in with its high-pitched shriek. The Clear Wing Dragon roared along with its fellows, and finally the Starving Venom Dragon lent its voice to the cacophony as the four of them filled the smoke-covered sky with their cries. The heartbeat grew faster; a sense of long-awaited anticipation, the thrill of an aching desirefinally ready to be fulfilled…

Zarc opened his eyes, and a smile opened at the corners of his mouth as he lifted his head to look at the monsters before him, holding his arms out to them in reverence.

“Yes, I see.” His voice was strangely amplified around the arena even though the speakers shouldn’t have been working, “This isn’t enough for you? Are you not satisfied?”

The dragons all roared again in agreement, and the heartbeat sped up even further. My hand that was gripping my father’s coat was shaking uncontrollably.

“I feel the same,” Zarc called out to his monsters, with the breath of a sigh of longing in his voice. “This isn’t enough. I want to become stronger with you. We’ll finally have what we want…to break every barrier that constrains us and achieve our ultimate power, to become stronger and stronger together in body, mind, and soul…”

“What…?” I breathed, but I didn’t dare look away.

Zarc reached a hand inside his jacket to extract one more card. He bowed his head to look at it, tracing its edges with slightly trembling fingers.

“So now it’s finally time for us…” his words came out as a shaky whisper, barely audible over the ongoing pulse that bound them all together in that inexplicable, perverse harmony. His shoulders heaved as though he were steadying himself, but then he straightened up and his voice rang out, clear and strong and echoing around the wrecked stadium, “NOW IS THE TIME—”

He thrust his hand into the air, holding that final card between his two fingers, as his dragons roared in thunderous unity—

“—TO BECOME ONE!”

A whirlwind started up from the floor; whipping through his hair and surrounding him and his monsters, glowing with an unnatural light that sent every follicle on my skin into an acute shiver. A new monster rose up from the swirling pillar of light, the one I had seen so briefly earlier at the end of the duel; not a dragon, but what looked like a magician, a lean, powerful body wearing a cape that glittered with lights and beams as though it contained a universe within itself.

“What _is_ that!?” I heard my father cry beside me, but I couldn’t answer him. Thetremendous rhythm was everywhere, in my head and my chest and my throat and all around me, and I raised the hand that wasn’t holding on to my father’s coat to clutch my head.

“O Astrograph Sorcerer, who rules over the limitless scale of time and space,” Zarc raised his arms, his hands open toward the glittering magician in exaltation, the wild, unhinged smile breaking out on his face again and his back arched upward as hecried to the heavens, “Unite the unfathomable breadth of your power together with our desires!”

“Time and…space…” My father wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pressed me against his side. The heartbeat was out of control; it was like I was being stabbed in the chest over and over ceaselessly.

“MAKE US BECOME ONE!”

The Astrograph Sorcerer raised its staff, and again from the ground below where Zarc stood rose another beam of light, even more blinding than the last. It seemed to swirl, grow, and undulate with every color imaginable, sparking and spinning like a massive vortex of energy below him. Raising his head slowly to gaze up at them once again, Zarc addressed his monsters.

“Go on,” he said, almost gently, “This is what we all wanted.”

With barely a moment of hesitation the Odd-Eyes Dragon leapt headlong into the vortex, and the swirling mass flashed and sparked as it consumed the monster. I choked and gasped as the spike in the heartbeat struck through me, as I felt the dragon’s body break apart and dematerialize into energy.

“He—he—he’s going to—”

And then the next one. The Dark Rebellion Xyz Dragon flew down into the mass of light as well, and as the vortex swallowed it I felt the shock of sudden pain and anguish as it, too, was broken down and the light flashed even brighter. The energy spun faster.

At its master’s gesture, the Clear Wing Synchro Dragon dove into the vortex and dissolved, adding its sudden pain and flash of brightly-colored light before vanishing into the current.

“What’s he doing to do?” My father said beside me, “Summon a…new monster?”

My stomach swooped as the fourth and final dragon, the Starving Venom Fusion Dragon, stretched out its long coils and swam down to bury its length in the vortex at last, but with its spike of agony came a wave of excitement, wild anticipation, before it too was swallowed, consumed, and scattered within the current.

Zarc stood alone on his pedestal with the Astrograph Sorcerer suspended over his head like a beacon. I waited, holding my breath, for him to call the chant for his new monster made from the energy of these other four, his beloved creatures. But then he looked down into the vortex with an unfathomable expression, just as he had looked down into Rugen’s swirling, infernal chasm that had tried to drag him down with their screaming voices, and I knew what he was going to do.

“ _ZARC, DON’T—_!!” 

The scream ripped out of my mouth before I could stop it, and even though my father flung his other arm around to shield me and I immediately scrambled to cover my mouth with my hands in a motion of panic, I saw him look up at me.

His wild, unhinged smile was gone. The vortex below him cast his face into a stark half-light, as just as he’d looked when I’d faced him last night, as I’d tried to keep what he so desperately wanted away from him. When I could have ended this all before it had began. His eyes—his warm, familiar eyes—eerily bright again as they reflected the sparkling lights below, fixed onto mine in a moment that felt as though it was suspended in time; but his face remained passive, as though this was the first time we had ever met.

_Watch me._

He closed his eyes, and let himself fall.

A smile came back onto his face; not the wide, insane grin he’d worn earlier, but a gentle smile, like a sigh of relief, like a weight being lifted. Content, as if he were falling asleep.

But then his body hit the swirling current of energy, and I dragged my hands from my mouth and openly screamed. The mass exploded in a like lightning, a blinding white burst—I doubled forward over my knees, covering my head with my arms and digging my fingers in to grasp at my hair, but the pain was too much. Somehow I could feel his body ripping apart as acutely as if it were my own, flesh and bone breaking down and mingling with the agitated current of energy that now turned from glittering, colorful light into thick black smoke. My father’s arm was still around me, his fingers digging into my shoulder as he trembled, and it was all I could do to reach out with one hand and grab another handful of his lab coat to make sure he was still there while I screamed and screamed and the pressure mounted to a blinding, heinous peak and the shockwave struck us, sending us crashing backward into Shino’s desk as we held onto one another.

And then it began to ebb away, and I was left shaking and gasping and blinking in the near-pitch darkness and silence.

“He’s dead,” my father whispered, “There’s no way he could have… He’s dead, he must be…”

“He’s not,” was all I could choke out, because the pressure weighing upon me was too great, too inconceivably heavy; a crushing, unbearable avalanche of wrath and hatred that pinned every limb, every muscle and vein of my body down with the sickening, dizzying presence of its soul. I looked up, squinting through the pain and through the darkness to see a massive expanse of thick black clouds whirling above the arena, above the entire city, crackling with angry red lightning.

“No,” my father gasped, “It can’t be…it can’t be…”

Something was moving behind the clouds. Something huge, something that gleamed through the black smoke with eery green luminescent veins and livid yellow eyes. Then the sound of laughter; deep, malicious, profane and unnatural, boomed out from the sky and shuddered the very foundation of the building. 

My mouth filled with sour bile. “No…”

In a swift, devastatingly huge movement the monster opened a wingspan—a greater expanse than I’d ever seen, that dwarfed the skyscrapers below it—clearing away the smoke to reveal the form of a catastrophic dragon; curved and spiked and towering like a dark, titanic god against the cityscape.

And as I looked up at the leviathan beast, the dragon that had once been Zarc, I was sure of one fact:

This was the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15: Dandelion
> 
> Chapter 16 will be the final chapter.


	15. Dandelion

> _I’m wasted, losing time_
> 
> _On a foolish, fragile spine._
> 
> _I want all that is not mine._
> 
> _I want him, but we’re not right._
> 
>  
> 
> _In the darkness, I will meet my creators,_
> 
> _And they will all agree that I’m a suffocator._
> 
>  
> 
> _I should go now, quietly,_
> 
> _For my bones have found a place to lie down and sleep._
> 
> _Where all my layers can become reeds,_
> 
> _All my limbs can become trees,_
> 
> _All my children can become me._
> 
> _What a mess I leave to follow._

 

_—_ Daughter, “Smother”

* * *

 

It was always the same face, four boys—always changing, always staying the same—a face I didn’t know but which seemed so very familiar. They would pass through the shadows, in the corners of my vision, just out of reach and gone as soon as I got a glimpse of them. I’d try to follow one of them if I could, chasing the hem of a jacket or the heel of a shoe as it turned a corner, only to find myself facing _him_ , his face in half-light relief as the lamps in the trellises sputtered and sparked like lightning. He reached out his hand to me, palm up, and the blood started pounding in my ears.

_Give them back._

I stood paralyzed as he walked toward me. I couldn’t look away from his hand, not even to see his face. Anywhere I tried to turn snapped me back to the vision of his open hand.

_Give them back, Ray._

His fingers slid past my jawline, closed around my throat—

_—_ And then the hand squeezing my throat was ice cold and stiff as Kari lay on the floor in front of me, fixing me with her clouded-over eyes behind her skewed glasses as my breath escaped my lungs and her bloodstained lips formed the question over and over, _Is this what you wanted? Is it? Is it? Is this what you wanted?_

 

I woke up. I was curled up under a desk; Father insisted that we should sleep under the desks in case the monster attacked and the ceiling collapsed. We both knew it was pointless, that the desk wouldn’t make any difference, but I didn’t want to argue. We couldn’t spare the time.

I could barely remember escaping the arena after the Supreme King Dragon had risenabout four days ago. I had vague, foggy memories of holding on to my father, injured and limping as he was, as I retched and screamed and we dragged ourselves to safety amid deafening blasts from the dragon’s huge maw. My father was quicker than I could have been in constructing a plan; after we made it out of the arena and my head was beginning to clear, we had dashed on foot back to our house and gathered emergency supplies and every morsel of food we could carry before heading here, to the lab. This was not our newer upstairs lab where we had developed the ARC module, but back down in the basement where the Field Lab lay, as well as our dusty, outdated equipment as we’d left it all those months ago. My father had bandaged the cuts in my hands from the shard of glass I’d used to fight off the Starving Venom Dragon, and I had fashioned him a splint from a broken broom handle and the roll of medical tape from the Field Lab’s basic first aid kit. 

We weren’t entirely trapped here; there was one time when we felt safe enough to go out to scavenge food from the abandoned convenience stores and the laboratory facility cafeteria, stepping over the charred remains of unrecognizable faces and bodies to scrape anything we possibly could carry from the buildings that had not already been razed to the ground by the dragon’s blasts. At that time I had looked out into the distance to see the monster’s green luminescence glowing from behind the ashen sky, about where the arena used to be, feeling the hot bile boil up in the back of my throat.

At first the police and emergency medical workers were inundated with calls and victims, but after about a day of utter chaos they simply stopped responding at all. The phone lines cut out completely not long after. There were a few other safehouses around the city that we knew of; the Stardust Hotel provided some refuge in its lower levels, but my father and I agreed to stay here in the RSV basement on the less-inhabited edge of town. We were as safe here as we could be, until our limited food supply was spent. The Field Lab was equipped with power generators in case a faulty RSV build might have blown a circuit, so we could afford to run electricity for a couple hours each day. These my father employed in the laboratory off of the main office, running power to the old machines behind the door, because he refused to let me inside.

I knew why. He was running formulas and tests, like we used to do together, but this time I couldn’t be trusted. My idea, my project, my oversight, everything I had done had led to this disaster. The ARC had led to the catastrophe that began at the arena and continued to tear apart the city. Kari’s death was my fault. I shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near this equipment ever again. I was too stupid. So I spent most of my time under the desk, drifting in and out from gruesome dreams to numb, dark reality.

Today—or maybe tonight, since I had no idea what time it was—my father’s lab coat lay crumpled under the desk where he slept, and the low hum of the generator was back on. A dim light was seeping into the dark office, punctuated at intervals with sharp flashes, and I saw my father’s shadow move behind the blinds on the window. I crawled out and switched on the emergency camping lantern we’d grabbed from our house to throw the office into a cold, shadowy light.

The lab office was mostly unchanged from when I’d worked here. My desk, where I used to pore over data sheets and long, dull test analyses. Kari’s tiny old administration counter was just beyond that wall. I’d hated it here so much, I’d been so angry and bitter that my own ambition had been thrown aside when Zarc took control of the league….and to think if I’d just kept my head down and stayed content with my boring life, none of this would have happened. Kari and Danny and thousands of others would still be alive, as well as…

It felt as though someone had gouged out my insides. All I knew was that I couldn’t stand to be alone here in this coldly-lit underground office that felt like a mausoleum for my own stupidity and shame.

I crossed to the laboratory door where my father’s shadow moved behind the blinds, and instead of knocking, I simply pressed my forehead against it.

“Father?”

There was a pause, before he said, “Ray?”

I searched for something to say. “Have…have you eaten yet?”

“Yes,” he responded quickly, “I’m fine, Ray. Make sure you eat.”

I bit my lip, recognizing the dismissal, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn around and crawl back under my desk yet.

“Father?”

“What is it, Ray?”

“I—” I swallowed. “Can I—can I help you in there?”

“No.”

_Of course not._

I spent another long minute with my forehead pressed against the door, fighting the lump in my throat to for the ability to speak. My headache had not eased all week and I was constantly plagued with waves of nausea and cramps, but if I could at least unload the burden that had weighed on my chest since long before the Exhibition I might feel the tiniest bit better. 

“Father?”

He took a long moment to respond this time. “Ray?”

“I—there’s—” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the flood of tears at bay, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

The generator switched off abruptly, extinguishing the light from inside the laboratory. The door opened and I stepped back so I wouldn’t fall right into him—if I did I was sure I’d never be able to admit what I wanted to—and I was just quick enough to steal a glance of a familiar potted flower on the laboratory table before he shut the door behind him.

“What is it?”

He seemed so tall. It was like I was a child again and I had to admit that I’d done something bad, smashed an heirloom or gotten a disgraceful exam score. He used to look so disappointed, or even angry. He would scold me and lecture me about the importance of responsibility and integrity. We would sit down for dinner, and then everything would go back to normal.

But not this time.

The tears came freely, pouring down my face unchecked, until I finally blurted out, “It’s my fault—because I—I—Father, I wa—”

“I won’t hear it.”

I choked abruptly on the words that were all but tumbling out of my mouth. “But I—”

“I won’t hear any more of it, Ray.”

I looked imploringly up into his face. His glasses flashed down at me in the cold light from the camping lantern, but he raised his hands to hold my face.

“I know you feel guilty,” he said, so gently that I wanted to cry again, “You want to punish yourself and believe me, I know how it feels…but nothing you did caused this. Nothing could have stopped him.”

My face contorted into an involuntary grimace at the word “him.” The face in the half-light that loomed in my nightmares, the cold expression in his warm eyes before he fell…

But it wasn’t true that nothing could have stopped him. I could have stopped him. I had the power to do it right between my fingers that night and I was too cowardly.

“He was selfish and insane. The people disregarded all the terrible things he did because he was so easy to idolize.”

_Just like I did._

I let a sob escape my mouth.

My father pressed his forehead against mine. His familiar smell was comforting.

“I love you,” he whispered. “That’s all I want to think about. You can let an old man simply love his daughter, can’t you?”

I nodded, but I couldn’t bring myself to look into his eyes.

“No more sad thoughts.”

“No more sad thoughts,” I repeated his words even though I knew I couldn’t keep the promise. “I love you, Father.”

A heavy pounding on the laboratory resounded through the office, accompanied by a familiar voice shouting, “Professor! Professor! Are you there?”

“Is that Shino?” my father murmured in surprise, crossing to the shaded office windows to peer through, and then carefully unlocked the door.

Shino stumbled through the door, looking much more haggard and dirty than I’d ever seen him, still in his smart business slacks and shoes from the night of the Exhibition but now with a faded sweatshirt instead of his classy jacket. Even his hair was unkempt and covered in soot. My father held the door open but didn’t step back to let Shino inside, instead blocking him from access to the office.

“I’m alone,” he said gruffly, “And I won’t ask for shelter. Look, I brought food, I thought you might need…”

My father visibly relaxed. We didn’t have enough food here to properly feed the two of us for much longer, much less a third hanger-on. Shino dropped a backpack on the floor.

“I—I’m relieved,” Shino went on, “I was hoping I’d find you, and that you hadn’t both been—” he caught his breath, and changed tactic, “That you were both still safe. Most of my associates in the arena are dead, but the hotel attendants hid in the basement levels and there’s a decent stock of food down there from the catering service. I had to smuggle this out—” he waved his hand at the backpack, “—but we’ll survive for now.”

My father nodded slowly, glancing down at the backpack and then to me. “It’s just the two of us here. No one else made it out of the massacre at the arena.”

I tried not to think of Kari’s wide, empty eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Shino said, in the most sincere tone I’d ever heard from him. “It’s still hell outside. The thing calls itself the Supreme King Dragon, and it keeps screaming for everyone to duel it. Practically every able duelist in the League has gone up to face it and no one has come back. And the monsters themselves—they’re all solid now, like they’re just real. It’s like that hellish monstrosity completely shattered the divide between magic and reality.”

I drew in my breath, and both my father and Shino looked at me, waiting for what I was going to say, but I found that I had no words. 

“So what do you want?” my father said wearily, sinking back down into his old desk chair, “I assume you didn’t run across town just to bring us a backpack full of oyster crackers?”

Out of the pocket of his sweatshirt, Shino pulled a small glass vial. He held it up to the emergency light to show us that it was half-full of a clear, glutinous substance.

“It’s saliva,” Shino said, “From—from the thing.” He lifted as eyes to the basement ceiling as though the Supreme King Dragon hovered directly over us.

Father took the vial and peered closely at it. “Saliva?” he said, “And what do you think I can do with this?”

“Back when you were networking for funding for Real SolidVision,” Shino replied, “You told me you were analyzing real-life substances so you could emulate them in your solid holograms to make the monsters seem realistic. Can you analyze this?”

“For what purpose?”

“Can you tell us what the thing—that hellish monster… _is_?”

Father looked up at Shino, who set his jaw in resolution.

“If we know what the monster _is_ , it’s genetic makeup, we might have an idea of how to kill it.”

“I’m a physicist, not a biologist,” my father replied, but he held the vial up to the camping light all the same. “And I only can run the generators for a few hours a day for my own testing. I can run an analysis on this but whether the results will mean anything…”

“Please,” Shino answered firmly, “We’re out of options.”

My father nodded, running the back of his hand across his forehead and closing his fingers around the vial. “I’ll be in the other room, it will take a few minutes.”

He disappeared through the laboratory door, and a few moments later I heard the generators grind into life to run his equipment again. Shino sank down into a desk chair and passed his hand over his eyes.

I pulled myself onto a desk and sat with my feet dangling a few inches off the floor like a child. “He won’t tell me what he’s working on,” I said to the silent office, as Shino waited quietly, “He’s in there every day but he doesn’t want my help. He won’t involve me.”

Shino didn’t respond for a long moment, but finally looked up wearily and said, “I’m sure it’s nothing to do with your intelligence, Miss Akaba.”

But the last time I’d helped my father with his technology, lent my “brilliant” mind to his work, I’d ruined everything. But before I could gather those dark thoughts from the banished corners of my mind to spill at Shino’s feet, he spoke again.

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you,” he said quietly, watching the laboratory door to make sure my father wouldn’t come back through it, “I’m so very glad you’re alive, my dear, I’ve been thinking of you often this past week.”

I didn’t know what to say. I had a feeling I knew what this was about, but I was not going to invite the subject.

“I want to apologize.”

I squinted through the harsh relief of the camp light to see his slackened and humble face looking back at me in earnest. 

“Apologize?”

“I was sure that showing interest in you would gain Zarc’s favor. I’m afraid I put you in an uncomfortable position, putting you next to him, trying to manipulate his intentions with you to my benefit with him just to make him prefer my arena’s contract. I’m sorry.”

I blinked and looked down at my hands, hardly able to process this confession. It all seemed so absurdly trivial now; the way Shino had expounded my accomplishments in the lounge at the Stardust Hotel or dragged me into close quarters with Zarc during the photo-op—less than two weeks ago, but it felt like decades.

“If…if you don’t mind me asking,” Shino continued, even more gently still, “Miss Akaba—”

“You can call me Ray,” I said, if only to wildly deflect the question I knew was coming for one more second.

“Ray,” he amended, “What…what exactly was the nature of your relationship with Zarc?”

I stayed silent for a long while, listening to the comforting hum of the generator in the other room as my father’s analysis equipment glowed through the blinds over the windows. It was the question that had gnawed at the pit of my stomach for this whole week, that had drained all sense of feeling from my chest and left me with nothing but anger, grief, resentment, and guilt wedged through my sternum.

“Nothing,” I said. It was truthful, I rationalized bitterly; none of my interactions with him had ever been free of his manipulation or my delusion, had they? “He wanted me to do something impossible for him, and I was only thinking of what I wanted and how to get it from him, but then I let myself forget how horrible he really was, because I…” I looked at Shino, appealing for his understanding without having to say what I was afraid to face myself. It felt so stupid to talk like this, like Zarc was just another in my lineup of failed relationships, just some boy I’d fallen too hard for and I’d gone and made another mess.

Mercifully he nodded, and simply said, “So did the rest of the world.”

The camping lantern threw our shadows into looming giants against the walls of the office, hulking like cold ghosts in the dark.

“I thought I was better than everyone else. I thought I wouldn’t catch the sickness everyone else had, thinking he was so wonderful. But then I met him and—and there was just something about him that seemed earnest and genuine like I’d never expected and it drew me in. That was my mistake. Even now, I’m not sure what…” The lump was rising in my throat again, trying hard to block out the words I found it so painful to say. “He told me his secrets. He baited me with his sincerity, misled me with the truth…I should have known better. Instead I just handed him everything he needed to become—” my breath hitched, “—that.”

Shino folded his hands and bowed his head. “So then, it’s true, is it? That the monster really is…him?”

Involuntarily my stomach twisted, so painfully I thought I might vomit, but I pulled my knees up to my chest and hid my face behind them, taking slow, deep breaths.

“I saw it,” I choked, “I saw him that night…he flung himself into the reaction that created that monster and…and then he was just—gone. He broke apart and tangled himself up with those monsters and now I don’t know what he is and it’s my—.”

“It’s my fault,” Shino said, as though his train of thought travelled alongside my own.

I let out my breath in a derisive scoff, but I looked over my knees at him all the same. He still had his hands folded, but he was smiling ruefully.

“He was quite popular before the Real Fights began. We at the arena kept an eye on the shortlist of competitors who brought in the most ticket sales to the duels we’d host, so we could connect them with sponsors and keep them bringing in the crowds. The boy who called himself ‘Zarc’ topped the list every time. My wife used to say, ‘When you’re that handsome, you can do no wrong.’ I laughed back then, but…”

Yes, I thought, there was a terrifying amount of truth behind that thought. Even in the old days of the Dueling League, Zarc was popular. He was handsome, his win ratio was perfect, his theatrical deference to the audience made everyone feel like he could never make a mistake. He was the consummate performer and his fans accepted his deeds without question, begging for more. Everything he did was permissible. No, not permissible—ideal.

“Then that accident happened,” Shino went on gravely, “And I could have stopped the Real Fights then and there, I could have stopped all of this before it went out of control. That accident that started it all—it could have remained an accident. But the crowd loved it. They loved _him_ , and they’d pay to see more. So I used him as a tool to boost my own wealth. Here was this boy; attractive, charismatic. Devastatingly skilled—like no one I’d ever seen—and unattached. No family. Convenient, I thought; that way if he should die as a result of the new trend he sparked he could just be quietly swept away without incident, hardly a tragedy, and the next one would step over him to carry it on. He was the perfect opportunity, so I took it. I used him. I promoted his style, proclaimed it as the new evolution of dueling, and I lined my pockets with his success. And plenty others—the Dueling League had already raked in the benefit of your father’s work with Real SolidVision but Zarc’s popularity was another level still. If this is what the people want, we all thought, let’s take our cut. What was the harm?”

I hardly knew Shino at all, beyond perhaps three conversations other with him, but to hear him confess guilt for the calamity he’d lent his hand into right beside mine made me wonder if there were others. My father’s guilt was already paramount, the machine he had created…Perhaps there were more than just the three of us, other tiny groups huddled in states of desperation and terror, murmuring words of guilt and remorse. The journalists that had praised Zarc for his increasing violence in the arena, the photographers who idealized his body and his decadence. The fans that bought into it, consumed it, demanded more. _It’s my fault…it’s my fault…it’s my fault…_

“He once told me,” I said, remembering for the first time since that very first evening when we’d spoken in his tower, sitting across from each other with the coffee table between us, “that there was no such thing as ‘good,’ just what people want and what it takes to fulfill that. He offered me something I wanted so I would think he was good. But when it came to what he wanted…” I trailed off, finding it hard to explain what I had learned from Zarc the final time we’d spoken, “He broke the rules of the game,” I said quietly.

Shino frowned at me quizzically. “To my knowledge he never cheated.”

“No,” I shook my head, “He never did. He played the game perfectly. But he broke the rules—the deeper rules, I suppose.”

“You’ve lost me,” Shino said with a weary attempt at a laugh. “Does the game have secret rules?”

“You could say so.” I stared at a fixed point on the carpet a few yards away. “Duel Monsters is only a card game, but it is given to us for a reason. The monsters take the place of our hearts on the Field. They allow us to be open with each other, to be raw and honest and vulnerable so we can become stronger. The game helps us reach out to one another. We build friendships, we forge bonds, we encourage each other. We grow, we understand ourselves.”

I looked up at Shino, who was frowning slightly at my insight. I was putting the pieces together as I spoke, only just realizing the truth of what I was saying myself. What I had seen when I had held the gaze of the Odd-Eyes Dragon, its thoughts and memories, had confused me back then, but I was finally beginning to understand despite how terrified it made me even now.

“Zarc could hear the voices of his monsters. Not just hear them—he let them fill his mind and drown out everything else. The monsters guided him, but they became his goal. But we aren’t supposed to focus only on our own monsters; on ourselves. All along he was misusing the monsters and corrupting them just to spiral in on himself; all along they _were_ himself and they were all he wanted. I went along with what he asked from me because I was too fascinated with him to let myself listen to those warnings. By the time I realized that what he was doing was wrong, it was too late.”  
It felt as though this conversation was disjointed, each of us laying forth our deeper torments about the monster we’d each had a hand in creating, if only to examine these separate parts and find some sense amid the scattered details.

“You know,” Shino said with a sad smile, “When I was much younger I used to want to be an entertainer. I wanted to light up the faces of everyone who watched me. But my father was a sensible man and he didn’t think that I’d be a success, so instead I went into business. If I couldn’t be in the spotlight, I reasoned, I’ll put the show on from the background. But I still kept these, just to remind myself…”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an old, weathered case, and let the contents slide out into his other hand: a little stack of cards. He held them out for me to examine, and I took the deck out of tired obligation and fanned it out. 

“I’ve been too much of a coward to take these up against the monster,” he said with a rueful chuckle, “But I’ve always found them to be…prepossessing. I used to dream about sharing them with my future son, but then my wife…well, it wasn’t in our stars. Still, they’ve always brought a smile to my face.”

I flicked through the stack one by one. Whimsical, colorful monsters, like a circus. Ifound that I was smiling too; a small one, but the first genuine smile I’d made in days.

“They’re good,” I said, “Any hand would be a strong one with what you’ve got.”

He took them back from me and gazed fondly at his cards. “If I had the chance to live my life again,” he said, “I should have liked to be worthy of them.”

He flicked through the deck and extracted one card, and offered it to me.

“Here, take this fellow. I’ve always found he raised my spirits.”

I accepted the card, squinting to look at the monster printed on its face, an acrobat in a plumed hat and a white cape that opened up like wings _._

“Thank you,” I said flatly. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had no use for this thing.

The sound of the generator ceased, the dim equipment lights turned off, and my father returned through the laboratory door and locked it behind him, ashen-faced with a long feed of paper.

“I told you I couldn’t be sure the results would mean anything,” he said gravely, proffering the paper to Shino.

Shino’s eyes traveled down the page, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper as he went, until he shook his head and stated, “I’m a businessman,” with no further elaboration. He offered the paper to me, for my own interpretation.

My father let out a defeated sigh. “All I was able to determine was that the genetic makeup of the monster is—”

“Human,” I concluded, staring at the long page of diagnostics. “It’s just human.”

Shino took the tiniest moment to let his eyes meet mine, and I saw an expression on his face that mirrored the sensation that now gripped my own lungs.

“Is he still…?”

Shino gathered himself, turning back to my father with some of his old businesslike air. “How can you say that thing is human? It’s a dragon, a massive, colossal demon—”

“I was there,” my father said gravely, “The man’s flesh and bone became the monster’s flesh and bone. He became their body.”

_They can only have what we give them…they can only be as alive as we make them…_

I must have made a sound, betrayed another sob, because both men suddenly looked over at me. Shino passed his hand over his eyes again.

“So this was a waste of time,” he said gruffly, “And we really are out of options. Only human, but can’t be killed like a human. We’ll keep throwing duelists at him with their little paper weapons and hope we can chisel a dent into him, is that it? We keep playing this damn children’s game until we’re all dead?”

My father didn’t answer, but I saw his eyes flicker back to the laboratory door where his ongoing research was locked away.

“It’s like you said,” my father said, “The Supreme King Dragon represents the convergence between magic and reality. He may be organic but he’s made from Duel Monsters. Perhaps he feels compelled to duel for that reason. The monsters exist for the sake of the game, so now he does too.”

Shino and I exchanged another understanding glance. The monster truly was a perversion of the deeper purpose of the game; how Zarc himself and his audience and everyone who had misused it to their selfish desires.

“I’ll be going, then,” Shino said, walking slowly toward the emergency door with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved in his sweatshirt pockets. He stood at door for a beat, and then turned around and fixed me with a gaze with his mouth slightly open, as though he were about to ask me one last question. But he seemed to think better of it, smiled sadly and nodded at the card he had given me, still in my hand. I nodded back to him, and slid it into my pocket as he turned back around and disappeared through the emergency door.

“The poor man,” my father said gruffly, “Chasing pointless hopes. I could have told him right off what the Supreme King Dragon really is. He’s the devil.”

Without another word he turned back around, as though compelled to return to his work in the laboratory, and the door closed and locked behind him before I could respond. I didn’t feel like eating, so I crouched back down and curled up under my desk, closing my eyes against the occasional flashes of light emitted from my father’s experiments behind the laboratory blinds.

 

It was pitch dark now. I made to crawl out from under the desk, to switch the camping lantern back on, but I couldn’t move. Something was grabbing hold of my angles. I pulled, but it tugged back, like a snake creeping up around my calf and now lashing itself around my knee. With my heart pumping what felt like lightning through my veins in the darkness I reached down to feel what was holding me, and felt a rough, fibrous coil, like a root rising out of the floor, trying to pull me down, down into the ground.

“ _Help me! Help me_!” I screamed—surely my father would wake up—where was he? I clawed at the carpet on the office floor to pull myself out of the grip—but the carpet was gone. My fingers sank in, pulling up handfuls of soft, salty earth. But then they weren’t my fingers anymore, they were covered in bark and twigs; they were branches, growing and sprouting buds and leaves. 

I was—outside? Yes, a cold breath of wind passed over my face, rustling through my hair. A faint silver light was beginning to shine from above me, illuminating my roots that had once been legs, the branches that were my arms. Yes, of course, I’d been like this forever, ever since I could remember, standing here silently as birds made nests of my hair and flowers bloomed from my bones.

“Hello.”

A voice. A gentle voice. The word was not a call for a response, but simply a greeting. I couldn’t see anyone, nothing beside my own body, but it sounded as though the voice came from right in front of me.

“Who’s there?” I asked into the darkness. 

The voice came out again. “Do you need help?”

“Help…?”

“It’s okay,” the voice said, “We all need help sometimes.”

A male voice. A boy. A gentle, kind boy. I was certain the voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It sounded different than a voice I might have heard before, but perhaps with the same cadence, the same inflection. The same, but different. New.

“I’m trapped,” I said, “I can’t move.”

“I’m sure you can if you try.”

“I can’t,” I said again. “I’m—I’m scared. I—I don’t want to.”

“Ah,” the boy’s voice said with a mirthful lilt, “That won’t do, will it?”

“Don’t laugh at me.” This boy couldn’t possibly understand, this naive child with his unfair, ingenuous happiness. “It’s my fault I’m like this. I did this to myself.”

“Is that why you’re scared?” the boy asked, “Are you afraid of yourself?”

“What do you know?” I snapped back.

His voice became suddenly somber at my retort. “I used to be scared, too,” he said. “There was someone I wanted to reach, but there was a part of myself I was afraid to face. I tried to hide from it. But in the end I couldn’t run away, because it was part of me. I _had_ to face it, that scary part of me. And when I did, it made me stronger. It meant I was whole. AlI had to do was build up the courage to take one step forward. So that’s all you need to do.”

What a foolish boy. He made it sound so easy. Couldn’t he see that I was rooted into the ground for eternity? “I can’t. I can’t move.”

“You’ll never move if you just cower in fear,” he said. It wasn’t a chiding tone; he was calm and comforting and resolute. “Having courage doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. It just means believing that taking one step will be better than standing still. Just enough courage to take one step forward. Then the next step won’t seem as hard. And the next one, and the next one. And then,” his voice brightened, the lilt back in his tone as though his own thoughts cheered him, “Before you know it, you’ll be with the person you need to reach, and you can go home together.”

_Home…_

“But,” I said, “There’s no one I need to reach.”

The boy’s voice laughed, not with derision or mockery, but with joy. A wide open, sincerely happy sound, ringing through the pressing darkness I felt around me. “Of course there is!” he exclaimed, “How do you think I got here?”

 

I opened my eyes. I was curled up under my desk, and the cold camping light was glowing on desk where I’d left it. I could hear my father’s breathing, heavy and steady, issuing from under his own desk across from mine. I reached down to touch my legs, and felt my own ankles and sneakers. My fingers and hands and arms were flesh again. So that was just another dream, after all.

I shuffled out from under the desk and paced around the office. I felt angry. My own mindwas just trying to trick me again, convince me that there was some hope left. That boy—all these children I kept seeing over and over again, they were just my conscience taunting me. Someone I wanted to reach? Ridiculous. He was gone. He was ruined and it was my fault, and no amount of “reaching” could bring him back. He was gone and I could never tell him…I’d never know if…

I found myself with my forehead pressed against the laboratory door again. The door behind which my father’s work was kept locked away from my terrible judgement.

The generators were turned off and silent, but there was a faint light issuing from between the blinds that were tightly drawn over the windows. I thought I was imagining it, or that it was just a reflection from the camping lantern, but this faint light was a different hue. A warm, almost iridescent, flicker of color from inside that room even though there was no electricity.

I tried the doorknob. It was still locked.

My father was asleep, curled awkwardly under his desk with his arms over his face as I walked silently across the office to him.

A good daughter wouldn’t think of it. A good daughter would respect her father’s wishes and would stay away from places that were off-limits. But I was not a good daughter. I’d already overstepped that boundary and run off into dangerous territory when I should have known better. All of my transgressions before now were far more egregious than this. I carefully slipped my fingers into his breast pocket and pulled out the key to the laboratory door.

I stood for a moment with the cold metal key pressed into my clammy hand.

_You’ll never move if you just cower in fear._

The lock clicked, and I silently swung open the door.

The first thing I noticed was the potted flower on the table, the camellia I had brought down here on the day before the Exhibition. At first glance I thought the flower was gone, but I looked closer. A tiny bud was poking out of the soil.

But the warm, iridescent light was coming from across the room, on a far table littered with my father’s strange notes and diagrams, shining from within a case that was not unlike the ones that had held the new modules that we had attached to the Elites’ duel disks. I crossed over to it, feeling strangely as though I could hear a soft whisper coming from within it. I flicked open the catch, and lifted the lid.

I had expected a weapon, or else another duel disk attachment that might be able to sustain some force against the monster that rampaged over the city. But the case held four cards, each faintly emitting a light in a slightly different hue as though they pulsed with some mysterious inner power.

_En Flowers._

_En Birds._

_En Winds._

_En Moon._

“Ray.”

I heard my father’s voice but I didn’t turn around. I simply froze, staring down at these four cards in the case.

“Leave the room, Ray.”

He sounded distressed, as though even by being near them I’d somehow mess up the work he’d been doing all this time with my infectious stupidity.

“This is what you’ve been working on?” I said, still staring down at the cards.

“Don’t touch them.”

“You don’t trust me,” This time my voice was a little louder, a little harder to control. “You didn’t trust me to help you.”

I heard him let out his breath slowly. “That’s not the reason.”

“So what is it?” I turned back to him, finding myself searching his face for his anger or disappointment, waiting for his scolding if only because it was one thing I _could_ understand. “The last time I helped you I messed everything up.”

“No, Ray.” He walked forward with his eyes fixed on me behind his glasses, limping on his bad leg and leaning over the table for support, “Because…I’m not certain anyone should use these. Even I don’t fully understand them. They hold an incredible power.”

He drew level with me, and for a moment I thought he would slam the lid of the case shut again and order me to get out of the room and get back under my desk where I belonged, but he did not. He simply stood next to me and looked down at the four cards with me, with an expression on his face somewhere between wonder and a deep, reverent fear.

“ _En_ ,” I said quietly, “What does it mean?”

The Professor was silent for a time, keeping his eyes down on the cards rather than peering over his glasses to fix me with his educative gaze like he often would do when I would ask a question. “Well, you see,” he’d usually say; or sometimes, “Very good question, Ray…” before he would calmly and didactically explain, but he said neither of those.

“I don’t know,” was his simple response, something I was unused to hearing him say, especially in such a grave tone. “‘En’—eternity. A circle, an endless loop. Or perhaps, destiny. A bond between one entity and another.”

Eternity. An endless loop. Destiny…a bond.

“Perhaps all of them together, or something else entirely. Maybe simply ‘energy.’ I don’t know.”

The cards held my gaze, transfixing me, and I had a strange sensation behind my chest that I needed to know something from them, that they held a secret that I could not begin to fathom but which ached and tugged at my heart in a way that I’d only heard described by one other person.

“How did you make these?”

He was silent again, still unwilling or unable to look me in the eye. He drew in a breath.

“I developed the Real SolidVision system so that I could build the world in my design,” he said slowly, “As anyone would do when they’re driven by hubris. I wanted to be famous. I wanted to be a household name, change the course of scientific potential, uncover the secrets of the universe so I could build upon its foundation.”

I nodded. I remembered my father’s passion from all those years ago, his unrelenting ambition, and how the result of his work’s misuse had broken him. 

“I travelled the world, don’t you remember? I hated to leave you at school but I simply couldn’t do without visiting those places that quivered and whispered with the type of energy I sought for my project. Flaming volcanoes; empty, dusty deserts; lush valleys and meadows, mountain peaks covered in ice and snow…I was sure I would find what I was looking for in those places.”

“You wrote to me every week,” I recalled easily, “You sent me letters and photographs of all the places you went. They were beautiful.”

“Yes,” he went on, “And after a time, the data I gathered managed to work its way into a formula. I say it this way because I—I’m not entirely sure it was my genius that worked out the equation, or if it was…revealing itself to me. It unfolded like a map, complex and layered in ways I didn’t fully understand. And when I tested it to see what its effect would be when I used it in the machine I was…terrified.”

He crossed to the dusty table and picked up the potted camellia that sprouted out of its soil.

“This is not a new bud,” he said, “This is…the very same flower.”

“It just grew back,” I said, trying to be matter-of-fact, “Flowers do that. They’re pruned, and then they bloom again.”

“Over time. The course of seasons, perhaps. Yesterday it was dying, today it is a bud. But it’s the very same flower. The same, but new.”

I didn’t understand what he was trying to explain, but more curious still was the new tone in his voice. It was as though I were a child dismayed over a broken toy and he was imploring that it would be just the same after he had mended it, like the dead flower was something I felt loss over, and that this was not simply a replacement, but the original.

“The formula I found,” he continued, “Was not one that was structured like any I’d ever encountered. It was not just a conversion from one form of existence to another. Even now I can’t explain it. But when I came home and tested it in the machine, I found that the subject would be transformed into something…new. But not…not entirely different.”

“I don’t understand,” I said truthfully.

“When I tested it on my hat, my glasses, various furniture, it did nothing. But something organic and pulsing with life, like this flower, would return to an early stage in its life cycle. A seed barely sprouted, over and over again. After I observed this consistently I wanted to test it on a sentient creature. I found a rabbit at a local caretaker; an old buck that had been abandoned and abused in its young days, had grown aggressive toward its fellows and had to be kept separate so it wouldn’t hurt them. They were going to put it down, so I bought the wretched creature for my experimentation.”

A little tremor crept up the back of my neck, as though I knew where his story would lead before I was fully aware of it.

“The experiment was successful. When subjected to the energy behind this mysterious formula, the rabbit was changed. In place of an old, scarred, angry rabbit was a tiny kit. A little innocent thing, as though it had only barely emerged from the womb.”

“A newborn?” I whispered quietly, as the cards still held my gaze.

“Blind and naked, completely helpless,” he nodded. “Naturally I wanted to keep the creature nearby, to ensure that it remained as stable as a living thing, and to keep a close eye on its behavior, in case it showed signs of turning back to its aggressive ways. So, I did what any doting father would do.”

I was silent for a long time, completely at odds with myself. My head felt hot and my stomach was icy, and the word escaped my lips like a breath.

“Tanpopo.”

A few days after he returned from his long period of traveling when I was still young, my father had brought me a gift. A little baby rabbit, perhaps a week old, pure white like a dandelion tuft. My father had made me promise that I’d take very good care of him, that I’d be kind and gentle with him, and that I’d never, ever take him out to play without my father’s supervision. He was sweet and soft and so tiny that he could all but sit in the palm of my hand, with wide, dark eyes. Tanpopo was timid at first but over time he would eat little pellets out of my hand, and hop across his little enclosure to greet me when I came home from school. To think that that darling little pet of mine might have once been…

“I observed that despite its origins as an old and aggressive creature, it did not display the same behavior as it once did. As it grew to adulthood it looked identical to my photographs of the original rabbit, excluding its scars. It seemed to have no memory of its former self, it was simply reborn as an infant with its whole new life before it again. In a gentle home with attention and kindness it became a gentle creature. And as you know, it grew old as all creatures do, and then passed away naturally. That was how I came to understand the real power of the energy I had uncovered.”

I waited. He looked at me for a long while, a deep and growing sadness etched into his face. “This power is the infinitely merciful potential of life. The pure and unadulterated spirit that courses through every living thing that gives it that instinct to persist. This power gave that old rabbit a new life, a new chance to open its eyes and rejoin the world. It strips away evil and corruption and pain, the ill will and malicious intentions brought on by the cruel world and reduces the subject to a state of innocence and purity, ready to begin again.”

I felt as though the cards were reaching out to me; their strange, ethereal power combined with my father’s words weaving a secret, an answer that only barely escaped my understanding.

“A bolder man than myself might have published my findings and entered into ultimate glory as the scientist who unraveled the truth of life and opened the pathway to infinite potential in the institutions of medicine and philosophy and religion. But I was terrified. As a scientist, matters of the undetectable spirit had never concerned me. The spark of life was only a mixture of chemicals and functions, hardly anything hallowed, and yet I felt that I had stepped on forbidden ground. I was afraid to go any further. So I buried my research in dusty file boxes in the archives of old unsuccessful experiments and turned my research back to Duel Monsters. A card game would be harmless. I could not possibly infringe upon the boundary between the spiritual and mortal worlds…or so I thought.”

There was an aura of familiarity lingering around the cards. The mysterious symbols that embellished the face of each one seemed like something I’d seen before, but couldn’t place. I read the lore on the cards, piecing together how they might be used against Zarc.

“How will this save us?” I whispered, addressing my question more to the cards than to my father.

“The Supreme King Dragon Zarc is a bastard creature crossed between mortal and spirit. The monster that ordained its creation, that Astrograph Sorcerer—if that monster is truly the lord of all of time and space, Zarc’s integration with his monsters cannot be simply undone by the cards that already exist in the game. He is the embodiment of sin and perversion. But these cards contain the very heartbeat of the universe, the unmeasurable force of life that is pure and incorruptible. This is how he can be defeated.”

I felt cold. I thought of Tanpopo, how my tiny, harmless, pure white pet could have once been something so isolated and hurt and angry. 

“So if these cards are used against him—Zarc will be—Zarc will—”

“The bastard monster will be purified,” my father said, “The evil dragons will be stripped of their power, and he will be torn apart from his monsters again. A human soul is different than that of an animal; his soul may not be fully erased from his new form. If his existence is tied to all of time and space—that Astrograph Sorcerer—as the product the sins of humanity, there’s no telling how the power of these cards might affect the universe itself and everyone in it, the cruel people of this world whose wishes created this monstrosity. I don’t know the extent of these cards’ power, or what they might have to do in order for Zarc to be purified. If they tear the bastard monster apart they may also tear apart the world in order to rebuild the broken rules of time and space, but they would purify it back to a state of peace. But I do know that there will be a cost.”

I tore my eyes away from the cards to look up at my father again, the sadness in his face now profound, but also pleading—as though he was asking for my forgiveness.

“These cards,” he said, and his voice sounded tight as though his throat had constricted, “May only be used by someone filled with the conviction of their own wrongdoing. They must be wielded by someone wishing to bind their fate to their opponent and be purified as well. They must face the consequences of their sins and be absolved and…and their current state of being will be erased. The cards will inherit the bearer’s wishes, and the bearer’s soul will be bound to the duties of En until those wishes are fulfilled.”

I tried to breathe but it felt like knives in my chest despite the heavy pounding of my heart. It was unthinkable that my father had happened upon such a power, to give new life and restored innocence to something that the cruelty of the world had corrupted. Beyond the shattered boundary between mortal and spirit these four cards might reshape the universe, grant the wishes of a contrite soul and purify the sin that threatened to destroy the world.

My father’s voice sounded distant and hollow as he spoke again. “So I will wish that Real SolidVision will be erased from the world so the monstrous spirits of this wretched, cursed game can never be unleashed, and you will have a future. I will track down every last remnant of Zarc and ensure that he is completely and utterly destroyed.” 

My mouth went suddenly dry, as though the ice that was penetrating my lungs hadsuddenly crawled up my throat and frozen my tongue. “Y—you—?”

So this was why he had forbidden me from coming into this room and seeing what he was working on. He was planning to duel Zarc and use these cards himself, and take their sacrifice upon himself. My poor father, my father who had nothing but love for me and passion for his work, so plagued with misguided guilt that he would give up his life to erase it.

He bowed his head. “You will be safe. You’ll wake up in a world that was reborn and you’ll remember none of this—and you won’t remember me. But my own work created this monster. My hubris, my ambition for fame and power and forbidden knowledge, so I should be the one—”

“It’s not your fault!” I cried, “You were following your passion, you just wanted to make the world a better place! There’s nothing wrong in that!”

“And yet I made you miserable. The one person I should have—”

“You were trying to protect me!” I burst out, hot tears suddenly starting in my eyes in spite of the ice in my chest, “This whole time you just wanted to keep me safe and I had to go out and be selfish and only think about what I wanted!”

“Ray, don’t be—” he reached out to take the cards, but I shoved his hand away.

“I won’t let you!” I screamed, “I can’t—I—it should be me! _It should be me_! This is all my fault!”

Hardly aware of deciding to do it, hardly daring to let myself stop to think or feel anything other than my panic or conviction, I swept my hand across the case, gathered the four cards into my grasp, and held them close to my chest as I turned on my heel, snatched my duel disk off of the desk, and charged toward the emergency exit.

“Ray, no! Come back! NO!”

_No. I have to do this. I have to. I have to be the one._

I flung open the emergency door and clambered out the basement stairwell to the open air above. It was nighttime, but it was hot and hazy with the ash that rose from the decimated city. My vision blurred with tears as I heard his desperate pleas follow me. 

“Ray, please! Stop! Please!”

I couldn’t stand it. I stopped running. His footfalls were heavy and uneven as he stumbled on his splint over the crumbling pavement and I could hear him gasping with the pained effort to keep moving. Slowly I turned around to face him, as he gasped and doubled over his injured leg.

“Stay back,” I called to him, and was surprised to find that despite the fact that I was shaking with adrenaline and felt like every nerve in my body was screaming in aversion of what I was about to do, my voice was calm. “You’re the one the future will need!”

He looked up at me. His face was strained with pain and shining with sweat. I wanted to run away from him and hide, hide in the closet or under the bed at home where he couldn’t find me to scold me for being petulant and stubborn. 

“What do you think you’re doing? You’re still young, the world can still be there for you, just let me—”

“No!”

“Ray.” His voice was soft, but barely controlled. “Ray, please…” He reached out his hand to me, palm-up. “Give them back, Ray.”

_Give them back, Ray,_ a different voice echoed in my memories.

I stared down at his hand, feeling a creeping familiarity slide under my skin at the back of my neck. I held the four cards against my chest, just like I had done before as I had faced someone else, but this time I wouldn’t let the same thing happen. Not my father.

“I can’t.”

“Let me do this,” he pleaded, “I’m old. I’ve done my deeds. Let me fix my mistakes—I’ll destroy the devil I made—“

_No. The devil I made._

“—so you can live in peace. I couldn’t live with myself if I lost you.” His open hand was shaking. “Please…”

“I can’t!” This time my voice cracked in the hot night air, betraying the anguish I was barely holding back. “I can’t lose you, Father! _I won’t lose you!_ ”

_Not you, too. Not you, after everyone else._

My disk plane sprang to life and I slapped a card down onto it. Just as Shino had said, the glowing barrier that appeared was perfectly solid despite no Real SolidVision system in range, as though the advent of the forbidden beast had cracked the logic of the game. Everything was real now.

The barrier surrounded my father, penning him within its luminous perimeter. The brightness accentuated the deep lines in his face; tracings of all his past laughter, pride, sorrow, grief, the shadows of every proud and loving smile he’d ever given me etched into his countenance like stone as he fixed his pleading gaze on me one last time. My father. My good father.

“Goodbye, Papa.”

And I turned my back on him and ran, my eyes fixed on the ghostly green glow through the ash in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although the timeline is not expressly stated in the show, from canon we assume that Leo travels the world to collect natural energy after Zarc attacks the city. However, I had a hard time working that logic into the continuity of this story, so I reinterpreted that sequence from episode 127 into a journey Leo had done much earlier in the timeline. In chapter 1 of this story, Ray mentions to Zarc that Leo traveled the world for his research.
> 
> And of course, the next chapter will be the finale. Thank you all so much for reading, your responses always make my day!
> 
> \--
> 
> Chapter 16: Cruel World


	16. Cruel World

_Here stands a man_

_At the bottom of the hole he's made._

_Still sweating from the rush,_

_His body tense,_

_His hands, they shake._

_Oh this, this is a mad boy._

 

_Here stands a man_

_With a bullet in his clenched right hand._

_Don't push him, son._

_For he's got the power to crush this land._

_Oh hear, hear him cry, boy:_

 

_“Don't you ever leave me alone._

_My war is over._

_Be my shelter from the storm,_

_My war is over,_

_I am a sad boy.”_

 

— SYML, “The War”

 

* * *

 

The sky was growing darker by the second.

I ran as far as I could, until I felt safe to look over my shoulder and be sure that my father was obscured from sight. I let myself catch my breath, assured that my father’s injury would prevent him from following me and keep him a safe distance behind. 

But wait…this stretch of pavement was familiar. Even though everything else in this intersection had been smashed and burned until it was barely recognizable from the other three blocks, this corner had been spared. The corner sign was covered in such a thick layer of soot that I could only just make out the cross streets.

Fifth and Pivot.

With a feeling of sudden numbness in my legs and a high-pitched ringing in my ears, I looked to my right, at the nondescript door that led into the deserted lobby of that out-of-place office tower. I’d stood right here on this part of the sidewalk what felt like a million years ago, not knowing that this stupid, frivolous, selfish decision would lead to the end of the world.

Still I felt a wild urge to go inside and ring the doorbell, just in case. Just to see if he would answer.

I had to keep going; if I stopped to let myself think, to remember, I was sure I’d lose the will to keep going. My numb legs wouldn’t allow me to run so I walked, keeping my eyes on the green light that shone through the haze from the heart of the city. I charged on, picking my way down wrecked streets, closer and closer to the arena where the monster waited. I walked past abandoned shopping complexes and the bistro that Kari and I had visited together, past smashed homes and empty, overturned cars. Into the long stretch of the downtown strip that used to dance with lights but now lay smashed and dead and strewn with the charred remains of the innocent citizens that had tried to escape the monster’s deadly blasts. Or perhaps not so innocent.

The remains of the Stardust Hotel was just up ahead, another monument to my stupidity and poor judgement, but the cover of the port cochère looked like a safe place to pause and think through my strategy before I declared my challenge to the monster. I kept my eyes away from the ground and my arm with the duel disk secured to my wrist pinned tightly to my chest, as though the cards might fend off the weight that was building there.

The requirements to activate En were heavy; I didn’t even know if I would be able to do it. Nine cards in the graveyard, three of each of Xyz, Synchro, and Fusion. In my head I counted up how many cards of Zarc’s I would have to destroy, and how many of my own I’d have to allow to fall, before I could call upon the power of En. I stood here on the soot-blackened sidewalk under the covered hotel entrance, going over and over in my head. If I had any hope of activating this power, I had to destroy all of Zarc’s beloved monsters as well.

Even between my own monsters and his, if I could destroy them all, I was one card short. One Xyz card.

I dropped my head backward and closed my eyes, a sick feeling bubbling up in my stomach. If I couldn’t activate En, this would all fail. Zarc had his cards that I knew of. I had mine. Even if all of them were swept into the graveyard, I was one Xyz card short. I couldn’t go back to my father for help; he would only try to stop me. I might fail. Just one card short.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a gruff voice issued from behind me. I spun around, and stared at a face I’d thought I’d never have to see again.

“Rugen?”

He was still wearing the slashed and bloodied dueling gear from the Exhibition, leaning on a crutch made from what looked like the broken frame of a wooden chair to support the crudely-bandaged stump of his right leg.

“Surprise,” he said, although his face held nothing like levity. The deep gouges that Zarc’s dragons had left across his face and chest were ugly and untreated, and one of his eyes seemed swollen shut.

“I thought you were dead,” I replied. I made no attempt to feign relief. 

“So did I,” he said with mock-casualty, “I woke up and everything was on fire, everyone was screaming, I was in pain…after I went through the arena floor I rolled under the scaffolding supporting the RSV machine and passed out. Some of the technicians found me when they went down to try to manually shut off the machine to stop the rampage, and they dragged me out. I’m still not sure why they bothered. Lotta good I am now, eh?” He slapped the stump of his leg, and immediately winced in pain. “Anyway, we stayed under the arena for a few days, but the thing kept passing over, like it kept wanting to go back there, so we moved and met up with Shino at the hotel. That is, before Shino ran off.”

“I saw Shino yesterday,” I said. “He came to see my father—”

“Yeah, he came back after that and he was all on edge, and then he ran off to fight…the thing. Said something about not wanting to have any regrets.”

Even beneath my adrenaline over what I was about to do, I still felt a sting of grief. So Shino was dead. I supposed that was my fault, too; the way I’d laid my regrets to him the last time we had spoken.

“So what are you doing out here?” I said, hardly curious but trying to deflect my sadness, “Shouldn’t you be hiding?”

Rugen’s mouth twisted into an uncharacteristically rueful smile. “I could just crouch in the gofer-hole and wait for death, but I wanted to see it.” He looked over my head to the looming shadow of the monster in the smoke. “Kinda beautiful, isn’t it?”

This winsome air didn’t suit Rugen at all. I looked around to gaze at the shadow that glowed with its eerie green luminescence through the darkness.

“The end of the world, beautiful?”

“No difference to me. The Elites had to live with no future,” Rugen said, and his voice lowered to a more contemplative tone. “We had everything and nothing. We could have whatever we wanted but we couldn’t keep any of it for long. Live in the moment. Take what you want, as much as you can get your hands on, while you can get it. You’ll die like a dog and get thrown in the trash, no funeral, no fond remembrance. Can’t leave anyone behind—that was Jericho’s mistake, you saw. Ruins the illusion if the people start thinking of a loss as a real tragedy. Spotlight on the winner and nothing else. If I got nobody in the crowd to look over my shoulder at, I can keep my eyes on the opponent. And if I’m gonna burn in hell anyway I might as well make my bed there and live it up while I can. That’s how we thought. That’s what _he_ made us into.” He nodded at the shadow of the monster in the smoky distance, and looked at me shrewdly with his open eye. “And that’s what I wanted, to have everything just for a little while. Better than having nothing forever, I thought. In _his_ new world I had power, I had everything I wanted.”

“And did you get what you wanted?” I asked, glancing down at the stump of his right leg with a blood-soaked knot where the knee should have been.

He laughed bitterly. “It was good while it lasted. Can’t say as I thought it would end quite like this. Haven’t got a cigarette, have you?”

“Sorry.”

Rugen dismissed the request with a resigned jerk of his head. “I envied him,” he murmured, almost speaking just to himself, “He was the best of the best and the worst of all of us. But if we were hopeless and futureless, maybe I should’ve thought of him as the most pitiable of us all.”

I didn’t know if I believed this to be true. I had never found Rugen to be pitiable before this moment.

“The desires of the people, their wishes,” I said slowly as we both squinted out at thegreen-flecked shadow of the monster in the distance, a strange pair in unprecedented solidarity, “He despised them. He blamed them for his misery.” I looked back at Rugen, trying to decipher his reaction.

He licked his chapped lips with a glimmer of mirth in his eye, but did not openly laugh. “Of course he did,” he said, “‘Give the people what they want.’ That was always our justification for doing what we did. But we did it. Not because we had to, not because we had anything real to lose for it. No guns to our heads, no stakes, not really. We just did it because we all had something we wanted that mattered more than the life that got snuffed out with the floodlights. The applause was just permission for us to serve ourselves with what we wanted. But _that—_ “ he nodded at the monster again in reverence, “ _That’s_ not what you do for anyone else’s approval. _That’s_ not what you do for praise and glory and applause. That’s what you do when you can’t have what you want, when you hate yourself for ever wanting it, and when you try to erase everything that made you want it to begin with. There’s no peace for a man like that. He won’t stop until he’s the last thing in the world, and then he’ll be alone.”

“And then what?” I said absently. 

Rugen didn’t reply; again demonstrating his uncharacteristic shrewdness. The cards on my wrist pulsed; a warm, tingly feeling of both reassurance and urgency. I could refuse to fight him. I could lie down and die, like Rugen was resigned to, but then what? Then Zarc would be in this state forever, ripping apart the world that had forsaken him until there was nothing left and to remind him of his torment.

“You were right, you know.”

“What?” I said.

“The advice you gave me,” he went on, “to block his summons, you told me at intermission before I dueled him. You were right, that was better than my own plan. I had to improvise a bit but I was so close.” He held up his thumb and forefinger and squinted through the sliver of a gap he left between them.

“You really were close,” I agreed, not sure how I could have managed to find some common ground with this wretched man now.

“But in the end, I couldn’t win,” he said, “So I guess this is my fault, isn’t it? I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t strong enough.”

His tone was nonchalant, but under his flippant manner I could detect a real air of regret. I considered him for a moment, taking a second to wonder if he, too, like Shino, like my father, like myself, felt responsible for this disaster.

“You got a plan now?” He asked, gesturing his free hand vaguely at the disk on my wrist.

I nodded. The knot in my throat was suddenly too tight to form an answer.

“Fine,” he said, “But take this, anyway. I thought I saw something in his face when he looked at it, and now I think I know why. Use it.”

He dug into his jacket and extracted one card, holding it out for me to take. I accepted it, reaching out with slightly trembling fingers, and turned it over.

“ _Beatrice, Lady of the Eternal_ ,” Rugen said with more feigned casualty, “The guide through heaven.”

I was one Xyz card short.

I stared down at the card, hardly daring to believe what he’d given me. On the face of her card Beatrice was bathed in golden light just as she’d appeared on Rugen’s stage. Zarc had looked up at her with wide eyes as though dazzled by her brilliance, almost reached out to her as I felt that ache in my heart.

“Thank you, Rugen.”

“Ah, well,” he said, shrugging the shoulder that was not hunched against his makeshift crutch, “I was called Rugen when I won duels. I’m through with winning now,” he let out another sour laugh, “Before I die I’ll take my given name back on; I’ll go back to being Shingo.”

“Right.” I slid the card he had given me into my disk to join the rest of my cards. Now I had everything I needed. I turned around and started walking, slowly but with resolution, toward the massive dragon that loomed in the distance.

“Hey,” he called out to me.

I glanced back at him. He regarded me for an extra moment, his eye not wandering over my body but this time fixed firmly on my face.

“Go get him.”

I nodded once, silently, and turned away.

I broke out into a run, leaping over piles of rubble and scaling broken fences, letting the hot, sooty wind whip at my face until Rugen was obscured in the ash behind me. I knew what I had to do. I carried the wishes of more than myself, the sins longing to be absolved. Perhaps I was no more to blame than anyone else; Shino, my father, Rugen…even Kari, who had cheered and clapped and followed the trend to her death. 

The monster was just up ahead, and that visceral intensity was beginning again. It felt like a claw clenched around my intestines, even from this far away the pressure was intense. How long ago had it been since the Odd-Eyes Dragon had appeared on the projection plane and I felt the presence of its emotions so acutely I thought I couldn’t bear it? That was nothing compared to now. The wrath, the hatred and bitterness and anger, every fiber that rattled with their torment was hammering through me and I felt as though every step weighed heavier and heavier. I didn’t know if I’d be able to stand in the monster’s presence, much less to duel against it.

I tried to push through. I had to keep going. It hurt more and more as I ran and stumbled through the city streets, my breath hot and sharp in my lungs. 

It was too painful. The monster was so close. It hung over the arena, its green luminescence sparkling in the fractures of the shattered glass ceiling, but I could no longer walk.

Somehow I was on my knees in the wrecked asphalt of the street. The monster was still glowing, swimming in my vision, but my eyes were watering and my breath was coming in short, quick, pained gasps. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t move forward. It already hurt beyond anything I’d ever felt before and I wasn’t even close enough to call out a challenge.

“I can’t—I can’t—”

_You’ll never move if you just cower in fear._

I felt a little pulse from my wrist, almost like a hand had wrapped gently around my arm with a squeeze, and suddenly the pressure on my chest lightened. I looked down, and felt a little warmth spread up my arm from the place where those four cards my father had made. With it came the echo of a voice in my memory.

_Having courage doesn’t mean you’re not afraid. It just means believing that taking one step will be better than standing still. Just enough courage to take one step forward._

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on that voice from my dream, trying to remember why it seemed so familiar. I hadn’t seen that boy’s face, but I’d felt like I knew him already.

I rose back up to my feet as though hoisting up a massive burden on my shoulders, my knees trembling. It still felt like I was swimming through hot tar, forcing my way through the pressure with every movement.

“Just one step,” I said to myself through clenched teeth, “One step…”

I pushed forward.

“And then another…and another…”

The weight on my heart was lightening. The cards in my duel disk felt like a hand holding onto me, guiding me.

“And before I know it…”

_…you’ll be with the person you need to reach._

I stopped; not because I still could not bear the pressure, but because the truth was finally blooming in my mind, and I understood.

That boy from my dream—all of those boys from my confused nightmares and the visions my own monsters had bestowed me when I had wept at their feet in the lab, whose faces had been so familiar. These four cards in my deck that had the power to tear away evil and decadence and bring their adversary back to a state of purity and infinite potential. 

_They’re real. They chose me. They’re a part of me._

So he had said. That man, looking at me in earnest under the lamplit trellises an eternity ago, appealing for my understanding. And I had believed him; maybe because back then I still unknowingly knew it to be true of myself, that the heart within the cards had reached out to me the same way their voices called to him. Perhaps this was their will, their purpose, to strike through the boundary that divided them from us and use their power through us to reshape this cruel world. We had been chosen, the two of us, to end the world and begin again.

Zarc was beyond my reach. I had lost him, and he would never be the man I had known. 

But those boys…they were the future. If I could make it happen, if I could hold out in the duel long enough to activate these cards and let them erase both Zarc and myself from this world and give us the chance to begin again, bound together by destiny until my wish was fulfilled. And my wish would be…

The pressure lifted miraculously. I gasped in a breath, feeling the tightness release from my chest so my lungs could fill, even though the air was still choked with ash. The power of En rose like a shield around me, blocking out the crippling intensity of the monster’s presence. I understood everything now. All the pieces of my resolutions finally collided together; the sins of the world to be expunged, the new world that would step into its place, the children that would be born into new lives in our place. I couldn’t afford to stop to marvel or cower at the inconceivable burden that had fallen to me, but I could move forward. I could see clearly. I could face him.

The monster was right up ahead. I had to get up somewhere high so it would see me when I called out my challenge. Somewhere high, somewhere I could be nearly eye to eye with my adversary like an equal. 

There was a solitary pillar standing in what used to be the back of the arena, one of the exterior escape stairs that used to service the roof. The rest of the arena was practically leveled to the ground completely, but this pillar and its stairs stood conspicuously alone, as though it had been carefully left intact so challengers could stand at the top to take their turn facing the monster. So, that was where he wanted me to stand, was it? After all, I wasn’t any different.

I took the spiraling stairs feeling oddly weightless. My thoughts were too full to take in the feel of my feet landing against each stair or the muscles in my legs pulling me upward with every step. What could I possibly say to this monster? What would he say to me? How could I make him…

The top of the pillar was flattened out, a perfect place to stand. The monster’s back was to me, but as I dug my heels into the surface of the pillar I was struck—not with fear, but with…nostalgia. This might just be another duel like I used to play, under the lights and the eyes of the audience. They would cheer to encourage me, wait with baited breath to see my magnificent performance. I’d wave to them and grin, knowing I was where I belonged. The adrenaline felt the same as it used to back then. My racing heart might have just been the rush I felt before every duel in my past. I was facing the Champion of the League, I’d made it past every obstacle and every opponent that stood in my way. This was my dream. 

But there was no audience now. No cheering crowd, no one chanting my name. No commentator, no music. There would be no trophy at the end of this duel. Still, I had to issue my challenge. Something intimidating and full of bravado that would appeal to the magnanimous entertainer he was, even in this form. _Supreme King Dragon Zarc, face me! Your final challenger awaits you!_

I drew in a shuddering breath, feeling my adrenaline peak with the heat in my head and the rush of my blood through my veins. I opened my mouth, ready to call out those words, but what came out of my mouth was—

“YUUSHAAAAAA!”

I felt a sudden shock surge through me, but not from within me. Its heartbeat slammed against the barrier that En had raised around me, I felt it shudder, and the monster turned its head to me. The creature bristled its mighty shoulders and bent its massive head down to fix me with its glowing yellow eyes. I started trembling. Even with En’s power shielding me from the worst of it, the presence of the colossal monster was insurmountable. Its rage and hatred for me flared like an eruption.

“Who is the duelist who dares challenge me?” The monster boomed. The voice was amplified and distorted, but the original man’s cadence still lingered beneath the monster’s breath. My knees almost buckled but I fought to stay standing this time, and glared up at the dragon’s gaping maw. The colossal dragon was holding its talons close to its chest, as though protecting something at the crest of its sternum.

“Don’t you recognize me?” I called back, flicking my gaze back and forth between the colossal monster’s gleaming eyes.

“You tiny wretches all look the same to me,” it hissed.

_You childish fool_.

“You don’t have to lie.”

The monster couldn’t veil its feelings from me. The familiarity was betraying it, seeping beneath its cold, haughty regard of me, memories and feelings it was trying desperately to repress. Anger, yes. Hatred in overwhelming measure, pain, bitterness; but something else as well, a sentiment that I couldn’t fully identify but which raised every follicle on every inch of my skin and screamed at me to turn and run, to just run away and die rather than face this truth.

I fought the compulsion. I had to. 

“Don’t you remember, Zarc?” I said. I felt the monster’s reluctance as it leaned its great head in to listen to me as I spoke. It was clinging back its memories of me like smoke through its claws, impossible to contain. “Don’t you recall my power?”

“Your power is nothing compared to me!”

Petty. Childish. It paused, and I waited. The dragons I had met had all had their distinct presence, their emotions were simple to identify, but this colossal monster was a perverse combination of them all together, their individual identities spun out and tangled back together in a confused mess of feelings and reactions and memories. I tried to parse it all apart, but it was impossible.

I lowered my voice to a natural pitch, as though I was speaking to him alone in the lab.

“Show yourself.”

The monster let out another deep, guttural hiss, and with it came another surge of anger laced this time with confusion and chagrin. “Aren’t your eyes open, you pathetic insect? Look at me!”

“No,” I said. “I know you’re there. Show yourself, Yuusha.”

I would never be ready for this. I hoped the monster defer my command again, insist that the massive dragon was all there was of him so I wouldn’t have to face it, but the tangle of emotions that resonated out from the great beast seemed to waver between reluctance and resignation laced with spite. The dragon lifted its head, and stretched its mighty limbs to reveal the center of its thorax.

There was a human-shaped torso, grotesquely disfigured in an unholy cross between skin and scales that ridged his body, twisted up into the sternum of the great monster and joined with it at his waist. The muscles under his bare skin were thick and powerful but unnaturally shaped, spurs jutting from his elbows and shoulders as though he were half-transformed between human and beast.

But it was his face that really, truly tested my resolve. What had once been such a youthful and handsomely curved cheek was ruined and mutilated with deep, rough scales that left deep gashes down to his jawbone. He was still recognizable; but entirely, horrifically transformed. The bloodshot whites of his eyes glowed with the same unnatural light as the dragon’s that loomed above, and despite the distance between us the weight of his gaze upon me was almost as unbearable as the presence of the monster itself.

As he looked down at me I felt the threads of his emotions begin to untangle, weaving back together into a strand I could follow. His expression as he looked down at me was unreadable, just like when he had looked at his opponents in the arena, uncertain of which of these emotions to put on display. But now they were all laid bare to me.

“So,” I said; somehow my voice felt thunderous. “Is this what you wanted?”

His rage flared against me, mixed with a complexity of feelings that I was too afraid to examine. He hated me. He wanted to kill me. He wished he’d already killed me. He wished I was already dead, because facing me like this was infuriating. I was the one thread of destiny he’d been unable to sever.

His lip curled, twisting the ugly vestige of his once-handsome face into an even more hideous image. But when he spoke his voice was quiet, but still quaking. “I am free,” he said, “and I will rip this world apart so that no one will ever use me again.”

“But is this what you wanted?”

Another heartbeat thundered against the shield. I felt the power of En tremble against his rage.

“You… _you_ …you have no idea what I wanted.”

“Don’t you remember?”

The power of En was beginning to fracture its shield around me, signaling me that it was about to lower the guard and allow my own power to be unleashed. The kind boy in my dream had been right. I was afraid of myself, my own power, what I’d finally understood when the Odd-Eyes Dragon had gazed down at me in the hallway above the arena and shown me those memories—but not from the perspective of a dragon, high above me under the laboratory light or prancing around the huge marble-floored room in the tower. Those images were from right beside me, looking into my face under lamplit trellises, and sitting beside me on the edge of the projection plane, and holding me in his arms. His mind, his memory, his soul. And all along my power was growing too, preparing me to face him like this. Up until now the power of En had been guarding me, but in order to win—in order to know the truth, I had to surrender to my power, as terrifying as it might be.

The power to see straight into his heart.

“I can feel the hearts of the monsters,” I said, a sudden softness in my voice that I had never planned, “Monsters like you.”

I could already feel it seeping into the corners of my mind like a flood through the crack under a door, and I braced myself for the crash. He was desperate to suppress them, but it was no use. The power of En surrounded me with one final reassuring squeeze of pressure, but I was finally ready.

I felt the shield drop from around me. I closed my eyes, and let his heart overcome me.

 

The elevator door closed, and I was alone.

It was impossible. Impossible. There was no way she could have known about my secret. I’d never told anyone. No one would believe me. No one was like me. No one could ever be like me.

But _she_ was just like me.

Or so she had said. And why would she have said such a thing unless it were true? How could she lie to appeal to me if she would have no way of knowing something I’d never told anyone? How, unless _they_ had bestowed that gift on her as well?

Yes, the gift. That was what she called it. The monsters had given their voices to me as a gift so I could live beside them. Was she really the same as me? Why had they had chosen her? Was she special, too? 

Noise, noise. I realized I was still staring at my own silhouette reflected dully in the closed elevator door. I turned and half-ran to the window that overlooked the street, and got there just in time to see a taxi pull off from the curb below.

I crossed back to the couches. She hadn’t touched the drink I’d offered her. I picked it up and swallowed it all at once, hoping it would burn off my nerves, but it didn’t work. The noise went on. It was an absolute cacophony. A mess of questions.

_Who was she? Who was she? What does this mean?_

She was Akaba Ray; I knew that much just by looking at her. She had been in a different string of the old Dueling League so she and I had never come face to face in a duel back then, but I remembered her name. I forgot practically all of my past opponents after they fell, but I might have remembered her. After all, her father’s work had meant so much to me, more than anyone could ever understand. It meant more to me than it did to her, or even to the Professor himself. More than they could ever know. I’d stood here and stared down at that lab facility before, wondering what more there could be, more secrets hidden away there. Real SolidVision was revolutionary, but it must certainly not have reached its limit. The monsters were dying to be with me, more than anything, more than just in the arena as the crowd demanded. There was a way. I knew there was a way. There had to be a way. I’d been standing in front of a locked door for so long, waiting for a key to drop into my hand, and now—she’d rang my doorbell, practically out of nowhere.

_She knows. She has the secrets. She can help._

Maybe. But there would be no way of knowing what she could do, or even what the Professor could do, without at least talking to her again. And how could I arrange that, when she’d looked at me like I was something disgusting that she’d pulled out of a drain? How could I _make_ her help me?

_Give the people what they want._

Yes. Favor for favor. Everyone was simple. There was certainly something she wanted. As we’d talked I’d picked her apart, watching the color rise in her face as she’d expounded her anger at me. Ruining her father’s work—well, that was an accident, and how was I supposed to respond—but there was something else.

“It’s a pity you retired,” I had said, and then her face had flushed. So I had prodded again, “That must be frustrating, backing behind the scenes after being in the spotlight.” She’d clenched her fists.

So she was angry that she’d had to back out of the League. She was angry she’d had her spotlight taken away.

Well, I couldn’t give her any of that back. What was a spotlight but some attention, special treatment, a luxury. But…perhaps I could let her taste it a little. What else had she said? Her father had taken her to a party once. “I got all dressed up, and Father let me taste his champagne, and I—I felt so grown-up and important…”

I could offer her another opportunity.

Perfect.

 

“My name is Yuusha. It’s what _they_ call me. I figured you should, too.”

I didn’t mean to kiss her. I didn’t mean to call after her as she walked away. I didn’t mean to tell her my real name, the one _they_ called me, the name they gave me. I didn’t mean to ask her to call me by that name. Everything was just a little blurred around the edges, the way the light from the lamps in the trellises shimmered on the curves of her skin and glinted in her hair. She was looking at me curiously, unsure how to respond, but neither the wariness with which she’d regarded me earlier on, nor the disgust and bitterness she’d thrown at me the other night, were still there. There was a sensation in my stomach, unfamiliar, crawling up into my chest, coiling around my heart so that its beating felt strained, creeping up to the back of my neck as I waited.

“Yuusha.”

It stung when she said it back, like a gentle but indelible touch to newly exposed flesh. The unfamiliar sensation sharpened, a thousand tiny claws on the inside of my skin. I felt my countenance twist, and for a moment I was sure I had winced at the sharp edge of her gaze. I turned around to hide my face, and found that I was smiling. I walked away slowly, trying to resist the impulse to run.

Shino had followed my instructions perfectly, he’d known well that my acceptance of his terms depended on it. She’d had a nice time, like I wanted her to. She’d agreed to talk to me, like I’d wanted her to. She’d even shown me a little piece of technology that could become something greater, with my help. I was done here. The key card to the Champion’s Suite was in my pocket, gaudy gilded thing, so I tossed it casually into a trash can along the pathway.

My car took me back to the tower, and I lifted my eyes as the lights along the greatroomwindows burst into life one by one, all the way up to the ceiling.

“It won’t be long now.”

I was so close. I could practically see them here, tumbling and dancing in this room I’d made just for them, filling the space with the music of their voices. It was such an ache to wait, to have to choke on the stinking desires of the people below me just to snatch a moment with my real family in the arena. They were dying to be with me.

“Not long now. Soon.”

I sank down onto the marble floor, and then tipped backward so I was lying flat out on my back, gazing up at the wide ceiling where they would appear for me. Someday. Someday soon. I was sure I could use her. She’d fallen right into my lap, the perfect tool. I could get her to do whatever I wanted.

She was just like me.

I hadn’t meant to kiss her. But she had undeniably kissed me back.

 

Months and months. Brief messages. During those meetings with her I was with them again, my beloved monsters, even for just a tiny glimpse of them. Just a moment to be with them again before they were gone. But soon they’d be with me forever. Soon. She was the answer. They’d instilled that same gift as mine into her heart and sent her to me after I’d waited and ached for so long. She fascinated me almost as much as those ethereal voices that had whispered to me for as long as I could remember. Of course, even the dragons themselves talked about her endlessly.

_Yuusha, Yuusha, do you think Ray was watching us? Do you think she was pleased to see us? Do you think she likes us? Do you think she loves us?_

_Do you think she loves us?_

What was this feeling, that crept on me whenever I thought of her, heard from her, saw her…in many ways unwelcome, strange and uninvited, sometimes painful, and yet I was desperate for it again each time. Each time I received a message, each brief time I saw her in her laboratory, even after the dragon had faded away but she remained. It continued to claw at my stomach and the back of my neck, sinking in more and more each time. I didn’t understand it. Women were all just the same as everyone else in this world, clawing at me for their lusts and whispering adoration to mask their demands.

I understood desire. I understood hunger and need. I understood what it meant to want something, even for a moment, even if I knew that spark of pleasure might would only dull the hollow pain for just one fleeting instant. I understood ecstasy, the presence of glory, and the numbness that followed it. I understood the ache of longing; it was perhaps the most familiar of them all.

But what was _this_ feeling?

I was flayed open to her. Peeled back and raw like a wound. Every time I spoke to her, looked at her, that feeling returned to me, sharper and more prominent each time. I was weak to her. She could hurt me, now that she knew everything about me. She could destroy me.

I’d seen it in my opponents faces from behind my monsters, when I’d stripped them of every defense they had and they knelt in anguish at my mercy. Not that my monsters had offered them any mercy, but perhaps this was close to what they’d felt in those last moments, before my monsters would fade away again, and the lights would go out, and the show was over.

Fear?

I’d never felt fear; not when my monsters were dancing and singing beside me. But this was different still. I was exposed. Unguarded. But there was something invigorating about it, like finally coming up for air after nearly drowning. She knew my secrets. It was terrifying, but for once I wasn’t alone anymore. I was happy whenever I was with her, just like I was happy whenever I was with them.

Sometimes.

Only sometimes.

I still couldn’t be with her whenever I wanted. It was still only sometimes. Just like with them, the monsters, who filled my dreams with their heavenly voices until the emptiness echoed when I awoke. In my dreams she’d be in my bed, tangled in my sheets with her hair tossed across my pillow as the morning sun played across every supple curve of her body. But in the real world she’d still pull away from my touch, turn her face away from my gaze, refuse my hand.

Except now she was kissing me.

I wanted to revel in my terror of her. I wanted to lose myself in this new tender rawness I felt, the sting of her lips, the reckless plunge of closeness with her. The dragon had vanished barely a minute ago but somehow the glory still lingered in her, my heart was still racing with that same exhilaration. My dreams were finally unfolding into reality. Finally. Finally. Her fingers were in my hair, the claws inside my skin followed them there as I kissed her. I wanted to sink into her completely, lose myself within her so this ache would stop. There was no time limit on her. She wouldn’t disappear in a shower of light and slip through my fingers like my monsters always did. She was real. She was—

She was resting her head on my chest. She wrapped her arms around me and held onto me.

“I hate you,” she said. Was she laughing or crying? She hated me? So after all this, it wasn’t enough. I’d thought she’d be simple, that she was just like everyone else, but she confused me as much as she fascinated me. She’d consumed my thoughts for months. Reading the opponent was part of the game but she never made sense the way she should. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we first met.”

“Don’t do the Exhibition.”

I had to hold back my sudden derisive laugh. So after everything I’d shown her, she still didn’t understand. I couldn’t _not_ do the Exhibition. I couldn’t _not_ be with my monsters. She’d told me just moments ago how deeply she’d felt their love for me. How desperate we all were to be together even for the most fleeting moment. “Why?” 

“Because you’ll…” she looked up at me. She seemed at odds for what to say for a moment, a little tinge of pink graced her cheekbone and she bit her lip. “You might get hurt.”

Impossible. The monsters had chosen me to live beside them, there was no way they’d allow even a scratch on me. “You really think we’ll lose?”

It didn’t appear to reassure her. Maybe it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“I don’t want you to win, either.”

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance. Did she really not understand? “It doesn’t matter. We have to win.”

“What if—” her fingers curled around the folds of my jacket, clinging to me as she gazed up in appeal at my face, “What if—the violence just stopped? What if you didn’t hurt anyone? You can still win. The old way. The way it used to be.”

So this was still about her father. Or her own ambitions that the demanding crowd had dashed with their desire for violence. I couldn’t understand how she could still be this naive to the way they used me. It was almost sweet, how earnest she was. I brought up my hand and stroked the side of her lovely face; the glove prevented me from feeling her soft skin, but the little tinge of pink in her cheeks deepened into a rosy flush.

“It’s no use. The people want what they want, and they ask for more and more. It’s not enough just to win the game anymore. We have to win them, and keep winning. We have to serve them.”

Surely now she would understand.

“Aren’t you the king?” She might have tried to smile.

Ah, yes. They called me their king. The king of their desires, the king of their lust. King of slaves, king of nothing. What was a king who only served the drooling, grasping scum that clawed and dragged and chained me up as their puppet? “Only when they want me.” 

Her breath barely contained her sob, but her lips were still lush from our kiss. “And what about what _I_ want?”

I looked closely at her expression. It was the question that had led me here. _Give the people what they want._ It was supposed to be simple. A transaction. I knew what I wanted; it was what I’d always wanted, the monsters living by my side just as they’d chosen me for. I thought I’d be content with just that. That if I could get her to bridge that gap between our world and the monsters’ with the knowledge and resources at her disposal then I’d need nothing more from her. But…

“What do you want?”

She laid her forehead back down on my chest, as though she couldn’t bear to let me see her face.

_Tell me you want me._

I wrapped my arms around her, holding onto her as though she might vanish from me at any moment like the monsters always did. Her arms were still around the small of my back, her fingers clinging to my jacket. I’d never been held quite like this before. That fear was clawing at me again, sinking talons into the back of my neck. Exhilarating. 

_Tell me._

Her answer came like a breath, almost too quiet to hear. “Yuusha.”

 

She’d be here any minute. I was on my back on the greatroom floor again, staring up at the high ceiling. They’d be here with me. Soon, all of them. All of us together in the home I’d made for them, where they could fly and play and where the scraping hands below couldn’t cling to us. Just us. All of us. And her.

“Any second now,” I whispered, holding my hand over the precious cards in my breast pocket, “Once she’s here I’ll bring you all out. You’ll finally be home. We’ll all be home.”

I raised my hand into the air above me. I was so close. I closed my eyes, imagining their voices singing right beside me like I’d dreamed of for as long as I could remember.

“I’ll bring you all out and we’ll all be together like we’ve always wanted. And then I’ll tell her…I’ll tell her that if I…when I…”

Compulsively I rolled onto my stomach and pushed off of the floor until I was on my feet, the sudden surge of excitement compelling me over to the window where I looked down at the city laid out below me. The light pollution left an unnatural, sickly haze over the streets below, so overbright that the stars above were pale in comparison.

I put my hand against the cold glass. She’d be here any second. The key to unlock the door. The secret to finally shatter that boundary that I’d waited so long, a lifetime, to break. Months and months ago she’d walked right into my life, and now she’d be mine. She was the monsters’ gift to me, just like they’d given me their voices, my name, everything I had, toward this purpose for me.

“I’ll tell her that…when I win the Exhibition tomorrow, I’ll quit the League. I’ll end everything all at once. Just like she wants.”

Questions. Questions of certainty.

“Of course I’m sure. I don’t need _them—_ “ I balled my open hand into a fist and pounded it against the window, “—If I have her. If I have all of you together, and her, then I have everything I want.”

They’d sent her to me. They’d given her to me. She was mine. She was perfect. She wanted everything I wanted.

My duel disk on the coffee table chimed its alert.

She was here. It was time.

 

The elevator door closed, and I was alone. 

I felt my knees slam into the floor, my silhouette reflected dully in the glossy door in the intermittent moments as the lights sparked above. The spot on my neck where she’d kissed me burned as though she’d branded me with a hot iron.

What had I done?

I’d let her into my house. Into this place I’d made as a sanctuary for my monsters, where the toxin from below couldn’t reach us, where someday we could be free. I’d let her up here, thinking she was the truth I’d been searching for—but she—she—

I was on my back on the floor again—how had I gotten here?—in the shards of shattered glass that littered the floor. Everything was destroyed. Broken and ruined. It was her fault. Her fault. I’d let her into my house thinking she could save me, but she was selfish and single-minded and manipulative, infecting my dreams. She was nothing like me.

_No one should be like you._

What else could I have ever done? It was always what the audience craved. 

_Did you care what you were doing, as long as you got what you wanted? Did you ever care who you hurt?_

And what did I care for the wails and whines of pain from my opponents next to the sweet voices of my monsters? It was the crowd who wanted to watch them die. I didn’t care what they had me do as long as I could be with my monsters. No one understood, not even that woman after all. And because of her I’d come so close to losing them.

Never again.

With my fingers shaking I reached into my breast pocket and pulled those four cards out and held them up to my eye level. They were quiet, more quiet than they’d ever been. 

“Tell me what to do.”

 

I stood alone in the laboratory. I was late for the meetings before the Exhibition today, and Shino and the other associates from the Arena had been calling me frantically, but refused to answer. I had to come here first. 

She wasn’t here. I hadn’t expected her to be, but it was strange to be here without her, to walk into this place without seeing her turn to greet me. This was her place; her presence lingered about the room, her scribbled handwriting on stacks of templates here and there. Her desk inside its cubicle. I crossed over to it, hardly thinking. There was a loose strand of her hair on the back of her chair, a few personal items scattered on the desk. The little device was there, the DDC that she’d shown everyone in the Blackrose lounge. It was the thing that had convinced me, confirmed my suspicions that she really could help me, that she was exactly what I needed.

I picked it up, and switched it on. The screen sprang to life with a list of options, and I scrolled through to find a series of messages. My messages, and her answers. I turned on my own disk, flicking aside another inquiry from Shino, and opened the same set from my own end.

This was so little. This was nothing. Just a list of my meeting requests, and her confirmations. I turned off the little device and dropped it with a clatter onto the desk. Of course she’d never really wanted me. She’d met with me because she was obligated. I’d known all along, hadn’t I? She’d hated me from the beginning, and then she’d tried to use me. She wasn’t like me, how could she be, how could she…

I turned, and something on the cubicle wall caught my eye. A photograph clipped out of a magazine. The Professor with his arm around his daughter, smiling proudly at the photo-op on Monday. But…that magazine had also printed a second photograph.

On a feverish impulse I ripped open all the desk drawers, rummaging through files and sundries she kept so neatly organized. If she’d cut out that photograph from it, the rest of the magazine must be here too. It had to be. She must have kept it. She _must_ have. And there it was in a bottom drawer, upside-down and squashed as though she’d thrown the magazine into the back of the drawer to hide it. I knelt on the floor, riffling through the issue to find that page…

Yes, right here. A half-page photograph of her updating my own duel disk, passively concentrating on her work, as I looked down at her.

I ripped the page out of the magazine, tore off the caption and the article attached to it, threw them both carelessly under the desk, and stared at the photograph in my hands. I could remember that exact moment, when the photographer had snapped that picture. There was a little strand of hair across her face that kept glimmering in the camera flashes, and I had wanted so badly just to raise my other hand and brush it from her cheek. 

I’d never have her. I almost had everything—everything I’d wanted—and now there was nothing. I was no closer to my goal and now she was gone and she would never come back to me. For a moment the dream had been real, the future; I’d kissed her and held her and felt her dreaming of it too. But the voices were calling, they were always calling, and I had to answer them. I couldn’t let her turn my sights away from them. The whole world was cruel, and she was no exception. She’d betrayed me. I’d never forget the screams of terror the little one had made as she’d held him between her fingers, ready to rip him in two. How could she not hear it? How could she—how could she—

I closed my hand around the photograph, crushing it into my palm, and stood up. I hadn’t come here for this. There was something I needed, something she could no longer help me with. They’d told me one more secret, in their fear and desperation, one more forbidden whisper of how we could all be together for eternity. A new voice I needed to hear, a question to ask.

The projector was turned on. She had always been careful to switch off the power at the end of the day, but the soft white light was warming the projection plane as though it had been on all night. Fine; then I wouldn’t have to wait. I climbed onto the platform and stood under the light, my mind lost in a tangle of memories.

I’d held her, right here. The last time I’d stood on this spot I was kissing her, feeling her, her lips and her tongue and her breath and that swelling in my heart. She was more real and solid than my monsters had ever been, but I’d held on tightly even still as though she’d fade away just like them. What a fool I had been. She was just a lie. A bewitching illusion. A mistake that had almost cost me everything, and I wouldn’t make that mistake again. But then why did I feel so hollow now? I lifted my face and stared into the light above my head, hoping the dazzling light might erase her from my memory.

I crossed over to the auxiliary module that lay on its table, waiting quietly to read the monster I’d place there. Out of my breast pocket I drew a card, not one of my dragons, but one whose voice I’d never heard. It had lurked silently in my deck, neither reaching out to be summoned nor whispering advice, an introduction, nothing. My other monsters had called me out to play, shared everything they knew, they had told me they loved me and given me a real name so I could throw out the unfit one I’d had to wear as a child. But this one had simply waited, as though it knew that I would come when I finally needed it. I hesitated for just a moment more, just a heartbeat, and then laid the card on the plane.

The little sparks of light gathered together to form the monster. I watched it closely, holding my breath as I waited to hear its voice, but it was silent. I opened my eyes. The monster was hovering off the surface, enveloped in a cloak that seemed to hold the glittering depth of the universe in its folds and holding a long staff that looked like it was fashioned out of pure starlight.

“Astrograph Sorcerer,” I said quietly, “I am Yuusha.”

The monster said nothing.

“I am your chosen one.”

Still the monster waited, its piercing gaze unwavering.

“I don’t want to be like this,” I went on fervently, “This world is cruel, and—and _everyone_ in it. I am tired of being their toy. I want to break free. In order to have what I want, I need you to lend me your power and grant my wish.”

The Astrograph Sorcerer’s face was veiled, except for its eyes, which he flicked just for a moment in the direction of the desk across the room, asking a question, if I was sure.

I clenched my teeth and fixed my eyes on the monster, refusing to follow its glance. If I could undo everything...if I’d never have met her, never allowed her to flay back my heart until I was raw and open for her like a bleeding wound, if I could simply stop feeling…

“I want it to end,” I repeated, “I want everything to end. I hate what I am. I hate what I’m forced to be. The others told me that with your power, I can be…reborn.”

The monster regarded me silently.

“You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you? Tell me.”

The monster raised its chin, looking down at me with narrowed, appraising eyes that were both immeasurably deep and brilliantly shining.

“Tell me. Tell me why you chose me. It was you, wasn’t it? The lord of all time and space?”

The Sorcerer nodded slowly, and brought up its hand to rest heavily on my head; I imagined it might have been like a father to a child. I squeezed my eyes shut, listening. 

It seeped into my mind. The truth; terrifying and glorious and impossible.

So this was the final secret, was it? Energy, matter, time and space…

_…all as one entity in an endless, undulating movement._

Her words echoed as though the room in which she’d spoken them had stored them to repeat to me. Yes, it was right here that she’d said that.

_It’s not science, but it’s truth, isn’t it?_

Truth, yes. It could be done like this. I could shed this agonizing skin and be reborn as something magnificent and unbounded. Free from them. Free from…her.

The monster brought its hand down to touch my cheek. I loosened my grip on the crumpled magazine photo in my hand and let it fall to the ground. The monster’s touch faded away.

I opened my eyes, and I was alone.

 

The visions faded away. I was standing on the pillar, facing the monster, staring into the pained eyes that shone out through the haze between us.

“Yuusha.”

I couldn’t tell if the monster knew what I’d seen. Maybe it all happened in an instant as he met my eyes, or maybe he had followed along beside me, reliving his own tormented memories of me, as though the heart of the man torn up within the great monster was reaching out to me in the only way he could. Both of us were broken. The two of us, two selfish people who had failed to be in love and now instead stood as adversaries at the end of the world.

“You…” he breathed, ragged and strained, “You…why couldn’t you…I thought you were…why couldn’t you be…”

“I’m human,” I said simply, surprised even at myself for the small smile that crept across my lips, “I’m breakable. I’m weak. I’m selfish. When you were one of us, you were selfish too. I know how badly you wanted to be loved, but you hurt others to suit your own ends and blamed everyone but yourself for your suffering. You are our sin and our punishment.”

“Shut up!” he screamed. His heart was racing faster, matching mine in rhythm. It was time now. “Shut up! You don’t know anything! You used me, you all made me like this _according to your wishes—_ ”

“Duel me!”

He was a monster. Perhaps this form was a physical manifestation of the twisted soul he’d always been. It had been a mistake to fall for him, like the rest of the world had done, but even still…even still there was still a part of him I needed to reach. If I was ever going to be in his arms again we’d both have to be someone new. I had to pay the price and disappear along with everything in this cruel world. I had to break him down and give him another chance to be someone worthy of the love he so desperately wanted. And in order to do that—

“Duel me!” I screamed, “Fight me, you monster! I will rip you apart! If it takes me a thousand lifetimes I will fight you until you are…”

His eyes were burning straight into mine. My power wouldn’t help me win; his feelings were too tangled and barely discernible for me to predict any choice he would make. But I didn’t have to win. I just had to make it far enough. Neither of us could truly win, after all.

“…until you’re whole again.”

No more stalling. No more words. No more hoping and wishing for the softness of his voice to return, to squeeze my eyes shut and wake up beside him after a long nightmare.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, and drew my cards.

 

* * *

**Epilogue**

_You are the avalanche_  
_One world away_  
_My make believing_  
_While I'm wide awake_

_Just a trick of light_  
_To bring me back around again_  
_Those wild eyes_  
_A psychedelic silhouette_

_I never meant to fall for yo_ _u but I_  
_Was buried underneath and_  
_All that I could see was white_  
_My salvation_  
_My, my_  
_My salvation_  
_My, my_

_  
_ \- Gabrielle Aplin, "Salvation"

The long fight was over.

I didn’t know what I was, or where I was, or how long I had been here. I knew, for certain, that I existed—it was the only thing I knew for certain. I couldn’t feel my body. I wasn’t even certain that I had one.

“Is someone there?”

His voice rang out, clear and pure like the sound of a bell. I knew that voice.

“Yes,” I said, “I’m here.”

“Who are you?” his voice asked.

I thought for a moment, and then answered, “I don’t know.”

“Where are we?”

I paused again, trying to piece my memory back together, but it was slipping away from me too quickly. I spoke slowly, pulling my understanding from somewhere deep within my heart. “I think…this is the end.”

“The end?”

“And the beginning,” I said.

“How can that be?”

“We’ll start over,” I replied, certain somehow of this fact, “We will be new.”

His voice was silent for a time. Perhaps I could see, I had some kind of vision, because what had been a blurred, unformed shadow was beginning to sharpen before me. He was someone familiar to me. Someone I’d known once—or perhaps, would know someday.

“I will come back,” his voice said. He sounded both resolute and fearful.

“You will,” I said, and I was certain of this as well: “But you don’t have to be the same again, if you don’t want to be.”

Again he paused, considering these thoughts. “But then,” he said, “Who will I be?”

“That’s up to you,” I replied, “Perhaps you will be the same but different, you’ll swing back and forth from one to the other. But you can choose, and there is power in knowing who you are but choosing who you want to be.”

“Power?”

“It will make you stronger,” I said, “You’ll swing one way and the other, you’ll suffer between who you are and who you must be, you’ll struggle to be who you want to be. But in the end, you’ll be strong.”

“So what should I do?”

I thought for a while again—it was the only action I could do—and replied, “Be kind. Be selfless. Offer happiness to others, and bring smiles to their faces. Make everyone smile. Even when it seems impossible, even when you’re hurting too, even when it’s the only thing you can do. Bring them joy.”

“That sounds difficult,” he said.

“It will be,” I agreed, “But you won’t be alone. There will be people who will be beside you. You’ll help them, and they’ll help you. They’ll believe in you and they’ll support you, they’ll push you to be stronger and to use that choice, that power you have, to bring smiles to everyone. They’ll be with you, and they’ll help you.”

“And,” he said slowly, “You’ll be with me?”

His visage was sharpening, and presently I could see his face, clearer and clearer, that perfect, unlined, softly-curved face. Perhaps I had arms, because I reached out and held his face softly. Even if I forgot everything else, even if I recognized nothing else from the life I’d once lived, I wanted to remember this moment. I wanted to remember his face, so that anywhere I was, anyone I was, I would know him.  


“I’ll be with you,” I said, with nothing more certain in my heart, “Anywhere and everywhere you are. You’ll never be alone.”

“Do you promise?”

I felt him holding my face, too. Everything was fading away, even the memory of these last few moments, but I held on, willing myself to remember, to imprint him on my heart so I could keep just this one wish, to carve this vow deep into my soul even if I couldn’t remember anything else.  
The threads of my mind were beginning to unravel, but I couldn’t let go until one last requirement was complete. I had to make a wish, one wish that would bind my soul to him until that wish was fulfilled.

I drew his face closer to me, until it rested against my chest. He might have been embracing me, if without bodies we could hold each other like this at all.

“I’ll need help,” I whispered, “I’ll be broken and powerless too. I’ll need to be saved. So I wish…”

The power of En seemed to encase the two of us as though in a cocoon for this final covenant.

“I wish that you will save me. I will be the one you need to reach, and you will be the one to complete me. I won’t be free until you save me.”

“I’ll save you.” His voice was soft, and strangely distant even though I tried to hold him close. It sounded like he was about to fall asleep.

“I know you will.”

He was slipping away, but holding on just like I was, trying to take this moment with him into oblivion, so he would remember me.

“Ray,” he said, “Ray, I—”

His touch slid away from me, he fell away from my grasp. I had one final moment to look at his face—his beautiful, youthful, innocent face—before that too faded out of my sight, the memory of his voice escaped from my mind, and I let myself shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! It truly brightens my day every time I receive feedback from readers. I didn't expect the story to get this long, or to take so much time to post these last few chapters, but it's been a really great experience and I hope to keep writing! 
> 
> Most of the chapters begin with an excerpt from a song that I found suited the story. Here is a playlist of the songs all together, I hope you find them as thought-provoking as I did. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQENAAd7-SLyRGe60_Vb4XJeqtmcdcmr7


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